Long Journey Home
by AstraPerAspera
Summary: 18 months after Nemesis, Jean Luc Picard cannot settle in with his new crew. While on sabbatical his life takes an unexpected turn and he meets up with old friends to outwit an old enemy. Follows TVMovie canon, not novels.
1. Prologue

**Star Trek: The Next Generation**

Long Journey Home

Prologue

She was certain she was being watched. Somewhere in the bustling market she knew eyes were following her. After all, she hadn't gotten to be who she was—where she was—without developing a sixth sense when it came to things like this. Her childhood had been spent scurrying through tunnels, hiding, watching her back every instant, sensing when danger lurked in the nearby shadows. A couple of dozen years spent that way had helped her develop some kind of innate ability to detect a predator, and she knew with absolute certainty that there was a predator out there. It made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Yes. She was definitely being watched.

Fortunately, her Ferengi toady was oblivious to such subtle things. His customary inane chatter as they wandered through the Bazaar on their daily inspection of the latest black market technology gave an air of normalcy to their stroll that she hoped would lull her observer—whoever it was—into some level of complacency. The watcher would become the watched. First, though, she had to find them. She let the Ferengi ramble on, paying little heed to his words, her eyes searching the crowd for whoever it was who was observing her.

She finally spotted her. The female was seated in one of the cafés that lined the main market way, her face obscured by the shadows which fell from the high and misaligned artificial lights which tried in vain to mimic daylight in the giant tin can that was the Bazaar. Despite the shadows, however, there was no mistaking her bearing. Only one race in the galaxy could sit that straight and exude such self-confident arrogance without uttering a word.

Her observer was Romulan.

Finally the Ferengi's nasal voice detonated her last nerve.

"Drang…" she muttered with exasperation.

The lackey looked up at her expectantly, oblivious to her tone.

"Yes, Princess?"

"Shut up."

Instead of being offended, the Ferengi merely grinned.

"Of course, Princess," he replied. "I was merely attempting to explain to you…."

"Drang…" she threatened, in low voice. This time the Ferengi cowered and clamped his hands over his mouth. She nodded with satisfaction. However, when she glanced back at the café, she saw the Romulan was gone.

An expletive she'd learned on her home planet escaped her lips, causing Drang's eyes to widen. She wasn't sure who she was more angry at—the Ferengi for distracting her, or herself, for succumbing to the distraction. She glared at Drang for good measure, figuring it never hurt to remind him what his place was, and with a sigh continued her tour of the Bazaar. She glanced around periodically to see if she could catch sight of the Romulan woman, but she was gone. The sense of being watched did not return. A cold shiver ran through her nonetheless. The Romulan would reappear, of this she had no doubt. And if the rumors she had heard contained even a quark of truth, the Princess knew the feeling of dread blanketing her was well-founded. Her sixth sense told her that her already complicated life was about to triple in complexity.

She scowled again at the Ferengi and wished her sixth sense, for once, would shut up too.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The smile Jean Luc Picard, Captain of the _USS_ _Enterprise_, plastered on his face was a smile he had used a hundred times in his career as explorer, diplomat and ombudsman in détente. As the crowd around him whistled and applauded, he grinned appreciatively and nodded his thanks. A casual onlooker would even have believed he was genuinely enthusiastic about the event, so expert he was at dissembling.

The thing was, it was not so much the surprise birthday party that annoyed him. Picard had nothing particular against birthdays, except that they continued to mark the march of time and he was beginning to feel that too many had already slipped away from him. There was so much still to do. To be. It wasn't even that this particular party was for him, although as a rule he disliked both surprises and parties in his honor. The thing that bothered him most of all, as he looked around at the self-pleased and well-meaning faces, was that these people…his crew…his senior staff…did not yet know him well enough to understand how he felt about such occasions.

Over by the bar of the social lounge, however, he caught a glimpse of a pair of sympathetic on-lookers. They knew how he was feeling, he was quite sure. He was equally sure that their objections to the party had been overruled by their more enthusiastic counterparts. The apologetic looks on the faces of Geordi and Worf told the whole story. He knew they would have spared him this if they could have in any way managed it.

It troubled Picard that this should be so. Not that his two most tenured officers had no comfort to offer, but that the rest of his senior staff should be so completely oblivious to his personality even now. Eighteen months had passed since the _Enterprise_-_E_ had docked for repairs following the near annihilation of earth by the Reaman megalomaniac Shinzon. Eighteen months since Will Riker and Deanna Troi, now husband and wife, had left to take command of the _USS Titan_. Eighteen months since Beverly Crusher had taken herself to head-up Starfleet Medical back on earth. Eighteen months since Data had made the ultimate sacrifice, to save Picard, to save the _Enterprise_, to save the Federation.

Picard's mind flashed back to the first year of duty with his crew of the _Enterprise__-D_. Within weeks their personalities had meshed and blended. In a few months they could practically anticipate each other's reactions. By a year's time they were a well-oiled machine, and even though Katherine Pulaski's short tenure had made them squeak now and again, when Beverly returned they ran as smooth and sure as ever. And had for fifteen years. A crew. A team. Yes, he decided. Even a family.

But families change and grow. Picard knew this. He knew that someday Riker would finally accept one of the offers of command. He knew…or at least hoped, for their sake…that Deanna and Will would never part company when it came down to the last good-bye. He knew that Worf would need to find his own balance between Starfleet, the Federation and the Klingon Empire. And he knew that Beverly's talents were too superb to be overlooked for very long.

But he had also expected some continuity. In spite of all the changes, Picard had expected to keep at least one of his most valued staff members and friends by his side because he knew that one individual was subject to neither age nor ambition apart from his ceaseless desire to become more human. When it came right down to it, he had never expected to lose Data. And losing him, along with all the others, had compounded the loss of each of them exponentially.

Jean Luc Picard, standing in the midst of the crowded social lounge, where three dozen people had gathered to celebrate his birthday, was a lonely man.

He supposed, upon reflection, that it was partly his own fault that his current crew knew him so little. After Data's death and the departure of Will, Deanna and Beverly, Picard had tried to convince himself that this would be a whole new beginning. New people. New ideas. The ever-present New Frontier. But after only a few days out of space dock he found that his new first officer, Mr. Madden, tended to get on his nerves a great deal more than he should have. The young officer was so absolutely enthralled with his unexpected posting to the _Enterprise_ that he was forever hesitating to make a firm decision, lest it be in error. He had fallen into the habit of merely rubber-stamping every decision Picard made, to the point where he was virtually useless. Picard had given thought to replacing him, but frankly, as he looked around for a likely candidate, he could find none. The Dominion War had so decimated the ranks of Starfleet that most experienced officers had been given commands of the new ships as soon as they came off the line. What remained were raw recruits, with little space time and fewer command skills. Commander Madden, he feared, was the best of a poor lot.

Unfortunately, his disappointment did not end with his new First Officer. His new ship's counselor, a telepath from Reigel who preferred to be addressed as Dr. Andagga and whose first name was unpronounceable by the human tongue anyway, was continually preempting Picard's remarks by replying to them before they had even left his lips. Picard felt as if he never had any privacy when Andagga was on the bridge, and had been trying to subtly shift around the crew schedule so that the counselor and he spent very little time together.

As for the ship's Chief Medical Officer, well--Picard was beginning to recall even Katherine Pulaski's tenure with a touch of nostalgia compared to Dr. Kranston. Within 24 standard hours of reporting for duty, Dr. Kranston had submitted a request for an entire refit of Sickbay, implying in his notations that the previous CMO had had very limited organizational skills and expressing amazement as to how any effective care had been rendered under such deplorable conditions. Picard had chuckled the first time he read it, imagining Beverly's reaction, but had grown indignant with each subsequent reading as Kranston's indictment of Beverly's capabilities had become apparent. The request was swiftly and curtly denied.

And so Picard had not found a single kindred spirit among them. True, Geordi remained, and Worf had returned to his post, his duty as Federation Ambassador to Qu'nos now behind him. Still, Picard felt he no longer had any reliable advisor, no one to provide a unique perspective. No one to share a simple breakfast of coffee and croissant with, as a prelude to the long day ahead.

The loss was profound. And it struck him just how profound at this particular moment. That simple ritual, for example, was something he had placed great value upon. Having Beverly as a touchstone—a sounding board—and, more importantly a friend and as close to a peer as a captain could find on his own ship—had been something he had relied upon. Picard recalled how, after awhile, she hadn't even bothered to wait for him to answer the door, but would just key in her own code and be waiting for him when he came out of the shower. Whether they discussed ship's matters or debated policy or touched on a hundred other topics, it didn't really matter; their conversation had set the tone for the entire day. Picard missed it. And he missed her. He missed her a great deal more than he had realized.

Picard felt his throat constrict, and he knew he had to leave this place. He looked around desperately and caught a glimpse of Worf whispering something to Geordi. Geordi nodded and immediately left the room. Seconds later Picard's com-badge chirped.

"LaForge to Captain Picard"

Picard nearly laughed with relief.

"Go ahead Commander" he replied.

"Ah, Sir. We've encountered some anomalous readings in the gravimetric flow fluximeter. I think it's something you need come and have a look at."

"I'll be right there, Commander. Picard out."

The captain smiled apologetically to those nearby, set down his piece of cake and strode swiftly from the room. As he left he shot a look at Worf who, despite his perpetually grim countenance, was completely readable to Picard after so many years. In the Klingon's eyes he saw a twinkle of conspiracy as he gave a curt nod to acknowledge the captain's unspoken thanks.

Geordi was waiting for him around the corner.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said apologetically. "Worf and I kind of thought maybe you needed to escape…I hope we weren't wrong."

Picard place a hand on Geordi's shoulder and looked into the man's bright ocular implants.

"My friend," he said with relief. "I am in your debt. I doubt if I would have lasted another minute in there."

The two of them began walking down the corridor toward the turbo lift.

"We tried to talk them out of it, Sir. But Commander Madden--well, you know, he's just so gung-ho about these things. And Dr. Andagga--she was convinced that deep down you wanted a party. That was all it took. There was nothing we could do."

"I appreciate your efforts, Geordi. And I especially appreciate your rescue. Now if you need me…and I mean if _you_ need me, I will be in my quarters. Otherwise my location on the ship is temporarily undisclosed."

Geordi smiled. "I gotcha, Sir."

The turbo lift door opened and Picard stepped in. As the door started to close, Geordi reached out to stop it.

"And Sir," he added sheepishly. "Happy Birthday."

"Humph!" replied Picard, with feigned annoyance, as the Chief Engineer stepped back and the door slid shut.

Picard let out a sigh of relief as the solitude of the turbo lift enveloped him.

_I have to leave this place._

His own thoughts echoed in his head.

_I have to leave this place._

It repeated like a mantra.

By the time he reached his quarters and stood amidst his collection of artifacts and mementos, the real meaning of his words struck him like phaser set to high stun.

_I have to leave this place._

He didn't mean just the party. He didn't mean just the social lounge.

He had to leave _this_ place.

He had to leave this ship. Leave the _Enterprise_.

No, not permanently, he realized with relief. Not forever. But for a while. A long while. And perhaps, when he had wrestled with whatever it was that had been settling over him for these past eighteen months, he would return refreshed and with a new outlook. Ready to take on this new crew—to get to know them—and to allow them to get to know him.

But now he had to get away—or die trying. He had months of leave coming. And Starfleet owed him. They owed him big. Admiral Janeway herself had said, if he ever needed time…well, now he did. Sliding into the console he sent a confidential subspace message to her. Within an hour he was packing. Twenty minutes after that he had filed a flight plan for Aloris IV and was running a systems check on the Captain's Yacht. And at 1900 hours, while Mr. Madden and the senior staff were still celebrating the captain's birthday and with confirmation of the orders awaiting the First Officer on the bridge, Jean Luc Picard slipped from shuttle bay 6 and set speed at Warp 5 on a three month sabbatical.

He felt like he was running away from home.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The deal did not feel good. No matter how many ways she tried to justify it as just part of her job, this particular transaction left her feeling at odds with herself. After all, she had just placed into some very dubious hands three of the most expensive and potentially disastrous technologies available in the Alpha Quadrant. Exactly how and where they were to be used, she had only the vaguest idea. It didn't help that the Romulan woman sitting across the table from her in the back of the bar was looking so inordinately pleased with herself.

"You're certain they're functional," the Romulan asked, not for the first time.

The Princess bristled.

"All my merchandise works," she replied curtly. "It's my reputation."

The Romulan nodded, apparently appeased. Her curiously blond hair cut in blunt Romulan style rose above her pointed ears, her low-ridged forehead further evidence of her Romulan blood. But not all Romulan, the Princess knew. Human too, although the woman tried hard to hide it. Still, the Princess found it odd that something as changeable as hair color had been left in its natural state, as if the Romulan couldn't quite bring herself to discard all of her human attributes. As reprehensible as the woman and her apparent plans were, the Princess found herself fascinated by her, wishing there was time to try to understand her better. The complexity of the woman was intriguing.

With the exchange of the latinum, the Princess had figured the official deal concluded. Not surprisingly the Romulan had provided her with little information as to the ultimate disposition of the technologies. So why the Romulan was still hanging around, she wasn't sure. There was no way she was going to leave her sitting there alone and just walk away. Romulans in general—and this Romulan in particular—were infamous for the complicated webs they wove. The Princess was not about to bail out if there were still some silk being spun in this matter. She was determined to know the whole story, and know it she would, if she had to sit here until the artificial dawn.

"I could use a partner in this," the Romulan said at last, the final drops of ale having been drained from her glass. The Princess looked at her suspiciously.

"I thought you already had partners," she replied icily. The Romulan claimed to simply be a silent partner—a broker for a group unable or unwilling to navigate the complexities of the Badlands Bazaar.

"Oh, I do," replied the Romulan smoothly. "And they will be most gratified in learning that we have acquired that which they have so long desired. However," she studied her empty glass for a few seconds. "There is another aspect to my…mission, that is outside the realm of the group I represent. Once they're happily on their way to obtaining their goal, I intend to go after mine. And if I'm not mistaken, I wouldn't be surprised if you found my mission very much compatible with your own goals and desires."

Now the Princess was curious. She had suspected there was more here than just the acquisition of a few impossible-to-find and illegal pieces of technology. That the Romulan had sought her out in particular had been no accident she was sure. True, there were few better at procuring the un-procurable than she, especially in the Badlands, but the Romulan could have gone through a half-dozen other black market channels and still probably come up with what she was looking for. That she had chosen to seek out the Princess suggested there was some other motive involved—aside from just a family reunion. The Romulan was, after all, through some weird and bizarre twist, her niece.

But that aside, there had to be more to it, and now the Princess sensed she was on the verge of discovering what abyss she was about to be asked to jump into. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like it. She also figured, whatever it was, she'd have to jump in with both feet, a prospect she did not enjoy the least.

"I'm listening," was all the Princess replied. The Romulan gave her a coy smile.

"There is a ship out there—a Federation ship—and her captain, that I have a particular loathing for. If I know Starfleet as I think I do—and I've had plenty of time to study them—once my other partners get things underway, this ship will, in all likelihood, be sent into the melee." There was a brightness to the Romulan's eyes, even in the gloom of the bar, that the Princess found disturbing. She had a sense where this was heading, but she decided to let the Romulan play her hand first.

"So?" she simply replied, as disinterestedly as possible. The woman leaned in closer to her.

"I believe you would have some interest in this ship as well. It has left as indelible a mark on your life as it has on mine."

"I'm not in the business of revenge," the Princess told her. "If I get wrapped up in little petty grudge matches, I'm not going to last long out here. I can't afford to let my feelings get in the way of what I do."

The Romulan glared at her.

"How dare you call this petty! That ship—that _man_—destroyed my life…and yours! You owe it to yourself to bring about his downfall—to take away from him all he has taken away from us!"

The Princess sat silent for a moment, her mind turning over the Romulan's words. As much as she did not want to, she realized that there really was no choice in the matter; she had to become involved. The man of which her niece spoke had indeed changed her life, and she had a debt to repay.

Her instincts had been right. She was about to jump off into an abyss. She just hoped that the way back up wouldn't be as hard the second time around. Signaling the bartender for two more glasses of Romulan ale, she leaned in closer to her niece.

"You have my attention," she said wearily. "Tell me more…."

o-o-o-o

Staring across the rolling hills, the perfect rows of the vineyard suggested an order to the universe that Picard had not felt in a long time. Yet he knew the order was artificial. Left untended, to their own yearnings of nature, the grapevines would run amok, intertwine their curious tendrils and twist around their woody trunks to make a brake so solid and so impenetrable that it would have been worthy of guarding the tower of the fabled Sleeping Beauty for a century or longer. Only the careful intervention of the vintner had kept chaos at bay, with each vine carefully tied, each tendril lovingly directed, each cluster closely watched and protected from the things that would harm it.

"Of course I can't do it myself," Marie Picard was saying. Picard ceased his musing as his sister-in-law's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"But there are enough people here who still care about the vineyards, and who know how to care for them. And so there is no shortage of help. I leave the management to Mssr. Geauneau. His family have been vintners for nearly as long as yours, and he treats the grapes as I know Robert would. I think he would approve."

A certain sadness tinged her voice. It had been nearly eight years since the fire that had taken her husband and her son, Rene. The charred remains of the Picard chateau had all but crumbled to dust. Nearby, a new house had been built, one in the style of the original. But there was a newness to it, despite its efforts to look timeless, that belied its appearance and it made Jean Luc cringe slightly whenever he looked at it.

This was the first time he had been home since his brother's and nephew's deaths. Events at the time had prevented him from attending the funerals, and as each year slipped by he had found more and more excuses for not coming. Even when the _Enterprise_ had been in orbit around earth 20 months ago for Will and Deanna's wedding, Jean Luc had invented a busy-ness that kept him from transporting to France, and time had run out. The events with Shinzon, the re-fit of the _Enterprise_, the breaking in of the new crew—further distractions.

But after two months of dust and dirt on Aloris IV, scraping up shards and scraps of pottery, Jean Luc had found himself achingly homesick. Not for the _Enterprise_. Not just for Earth, but for home--for where he grew up, for where his family, no matter how different he had been from the rest of them, had been for generations. Looking at the hills of carefully tended vines, he recalled how he had returned here after his assimilation by the Borg; how he had come, unconsciously, seeking to find the essence of himself, here in his home soil. And, with Robert's begrudging help, he had indeed found it—in the very soil itself as he and his brother had fought with the odd mixture of anger and love that only brothers can have.

He had left healed—or at least as healed as anyone could be.

Was that why he was here now, he wondered, looking again at the hills as the purple haze of twilight blurred them into indistinct shadows. Had he come to this place to find that piece of himself that was missing? But who here now would bully him into examining his feelings, as Robert had done? Robert was dead. And so was Rene. And so was everything that Jean Luc's father, and his grandfather, and his great grandfathers for six generations back had worked to build--everything the young Jean Luc had rejected the day he packed his bag and left for Starfleet. There were no more Picards. He was the last. The period at the end of a long book. The _Finis_. The epilogue.

"Let's have some tea, shall we?" Marie was saying. Numbly Jean Luc nodded and followed her, gratefully into the garden and not the new house. She disappeared into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later carrying a tray with a steaming teapot and two cups.

"Will you continue to stay here?" Jean Luc asked eventually as he sipped the Earl Gray. The evening was cool and the tea was warming.

"For now. Robert's estate granted me life rights to a home here. After I am gone, the vineyards will go to you."

"I have a feeling, Marie, that you will long outlive me. Space has far more perils that the hills of Labarre," he smile wanly. Marie, however, did not return his smile. It was obvious that this was something she had wanted to speak to him about for sometime. He realized how very difficult it must have been for her to deal with all of this alone, and he chided himself, not for the first time, for not having made time to come home sooner.

"Then to whom would you have me leave it, Jean Luc?" she asked, setting her cup down. "There must be someone…"

Jean Luc shook his head.

"My father was an only child," he reminded her. "We had no cousins. There are more distant relatives, perhaps, but none of whom I am aware."

"What would you have me do then?" Her voice was quiet, but he could detect the concern in it. If neither he nor Marie designated an heir, the vineyard would revert to the province and be divided among the neighboring land keepers. It truly would be the end of all his family had done.

"Surely there must be someone in your family…" Jean Luc trailed off. He remembered Marie had been an orphan. Her parents had been scientists in Paris. There had been an accident and she had come to live with her elderly grandparents in Labarre. She too, was as alone as he.

"Well," he said, instead. "We'll figure something out."

Marie nodded slightly, not exactly relieved, Jean Luc, decided, but at least content that the issue had been raised and would be resolved.

"Perhaps, Jean Luc, you will decide to have a family of your own one day," she said, raising her cup to her lips. "Even starship captains cannot stay alone forever, you know."

Jean Luc smiled at her over his own tea cup.

"Oh, you know us. We get set in our ways. Our crews become our friends, our families…" Jean Luc paused as he realized what his words meant. A thought came to him. "Actually," he continued, clearing his throat. "There is a young man who is rather like a son to me. His father was my best friend and his mother and I…" He looked over and saw Marie watching him with a slightly bemused look on her face.

"Yes," stammered Jean Luc. "Like I was saying, his mother and I are good friends. In any case, he's a most extraordinary young man and when he is done with Starfleet, I could see him perhaps finding this a life he might enjoy. I will speak with his mother about designating him our heir and see how she feels about it. I'm afraid that's the best I can do for right now."

Marie smiled.

"It sounds like an excellent idea. How ironic it would be if a place like this could lure a young man away from the stars, when it was initially the stars that lured a young man away from here."

Jean Luc merely smiled in agreement. It would be ironic if Wesley Crusher somehow found this life preferable to one in space. With his rare gift of multidimensions and understandings of different planes of existence, Wesley was already unique within Starfleet. Perhaps he would find a simple vineyard a welcome retreat from the complexities of his most unusual life.

"You know, he never would have taken to this way of life," said Marie after a moment of silence between them. Jean Luc looked up. He felt as though he'd missed part of the conversation.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Rene," explained Marie, a look that was part tenderness, part sorrow passed over her eyes. "This was not the life for him. Oh it bothered Robert greatly, but he knew in his heart of hearts that Rene would never be content here. He had too much of the explorer in him, like his uncle. He would be in Starfleet now, not here tending the vines."

"He would have made a fine explorer," agreed Jean Luc, recalling the few brief days he had spent with his nephew and how alike the two of them had been. "I would have been proud to have him on my ship. I was proud to have him as my nephew."

Tears now glistened in Marie's eyes.

"I do miss them terribly, Jean Luc," she admitted, wiping her eyes with her napkin. " I look out into the fields and still expect to see Robert there in that silly hat tying back vines. And once in a while I find myself making macaroni and cheese for dinner—it was Rene's favorite dish—and I don't even like it!"

Jean Luc took her hand across the top of the small table and held it warmly.

"I can't begin to imagine what it's been like for you," he told her. He recalled his own emotions at learning of Robert's and Rene's death, emotions he had had to set aside too soon with the crisis that had followed and the destruction of the _Enterprise__-D_. Too much death. Too much loss. Too much.

Marie was shaking her head.

"I have grieved, Jean Luc. Grieved until I thought my heart would break from it. And I am better, I truly am. You mustn't worry about me. Life does go on, as much as sometimes we wish it did not at the time. But with time, things become normal again. Not the same normal, but a different sort of normal. We live."

Jean Luc nodded, understanding. He had lost too many not to know what she meant. There was always a void. But life was too dynamic to not live it again.

"Life is our most precious gift, Jean Luc," Marie continued. " But equally precious is love. Without it life become just one series of events after another. Exciting, consuming, engrossing, yes, but ultimately very empty and very lonely—without meaning. I know a part of you pities me, here, alone, without husband or son, Jean Luc. But I am not alone, really, because their love remains."

She leaned over and took his other hand in hers, looking him square in the face.

"Don't overlook this other gift, Jean Luc. The day will come when you will need it more than you need adventure or knowledge or the thrill of exploration. Those other things will walk away and be but a footnote in your life. Love, and it will be life."

Gently she released his hands and sat back in her chair. A chill breeze rustled a nearby honeysuckle branch, sending its white flowers fluttering to the table top. Marie pulled her shawl around her shoulders and smiled at Jean Luc.

"This friend you mentioned—the mother of the young man…"

Jean Luc looked up sharply.

"Beverly—Beverly Crusher," he replied, somewhat hesitantly. Recognition lit Marie's eyes.

"Ah yes—you mentioned her in your letters. She was your ship's doctor, am I right?"

"Hmm. Yes," Jean Luc replied. He was surprised to recall that he had written to Marie about Beverly. Several seconds of silence passed between them as a nightingale trilled away on a nearby branch.

"She is in San Francisco now, isn't she?" remarked Marie, casually. Jean Luc nodded.

"Head of Starfleet Medical," he told her. "We keep in touch."

Marie smiled at this, although Jean Luc couldn't fathom why.

"Perhaps you should take a few days and visit her as well," suggested Marie. Jean Luc shook his head.

"I'm due back on the _Enterprise_ in two weeks," he told her. "It will take me nearly five days in the _Cousteau_ to make the rendezvous. I really don't have the time."

Jean Luc could feel Marie's gaze, even in the growing darkness. The flame of the candle on their small table danced across her features and he saw a combination of pity and wisdom in her eyes.

"Make the time, Jean Luc," she pressed him, urgently. "Otherwise, it is too soon gone."

An hour later, Jean Luc found himself waiting in the central Paris transport station for the next departure to San Francisco. He'd had no intention of visiting San Francisco while planet side. His whole purpose in returning to earth had been to spend time at the vineyard and in the town where he had grown up. Yet somehow, without fully understanding how or why, he was on his way to see Beverly.

How Marie had done it, he had no idea


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Beverly Crusher's apartment was as close to the stars as one could get in San Francisco. As he stood by the window watching the blinking lights of the hover cars drifting back and forth, Jean Luc couldn't help but wonder why someone who was as afraid of heights as Beverly would choose such a dwelling. But as he looked up and saw a clear view of the moon glimmering behind brightly illuminated clouds and beyond it the twinkling of stars to whose planets they had journeyed, he began to understand. This was as close to the _Enterprise_ as one could get on earth.

Beverly lightly touched his arm and he turned to accept a cup of hot tea. She leaned against the window with her own cup, watching him take in the view.

"I know what you're thinking" she told him with a sly smile. Jean Luc sipped the tea and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh?" he merely replied.

"You're wondering how someone like me can stand to live in the tallest building in the city when I couldn't even scale a small rock face without breaking into a cold sweat," she continued.

"Umm," murmured Jean Luc, with a smile. "Something like that. But I had concluded that it really was more about looking up than looking down, am I right?"

Beverly's laugh was quick and light.

"I never look down, if I can help it!" She mocked a shudder. Casually she slipped her arm through his as they walked back to the sofa.

"So. Aside from wanting to demote your first officer, muzzle your CMO and hide from your ship's counselor, how is life aboard the _Enterprise_?" she asked teasingly.

"Why does it sound even worse when you say it?" Jean Luc grimaced. Sitting down he set his teacup on the table and leaned forward.

"It's not that I just don't like them, Beverly. To be honest, I hardly even know them. But deep down, I feel this tremendous resentment towards them. And it colors all my interactions with them, both professionally and personally."

Beverly furrowed her brow.

"Resentment? Really? Why?"

Jean Luc picked up his tea again and sipped it.

"Well, perhaps I've spent too many years under Deanna's tutelage, but if I had to put a reason to it, I'd say I resent them because they're not you…I mean, all of you," he quickly corrected.

Beverly was studying him, silently chewing her lip.

"I don't know if you remember those first months aboard the _Enterprise__-D_, Jean-Luc," she said finally, "but you weren't exactly Mr. Warmth. You kept all of us at arms length for awhile."

"Until I got to know you…the crew, that is. Yes. Well, a captain does have to maintain a certain amount of detachment, you know. But it's different with these people, Beverly. I feel…very remote from them. And the odd thing is, I find I don't really care."

"Perhaps it's because you don't want to risk the loss again," Beverly offered quietly. "You know, we did sort of all abandon you at once."

"Hmmm. It was rather like rats leaving a sinking ship…sorry--poor analogy" he added putting a hand up to deflect Beverly's sharp look. "I don't know," Jean Luc continued, shaking his head. "Perhaps I'm just getting old…too set in my ways…unwilling to tolerate too much change."

Beverly settled back into the comfortable corner of the sofa and pulled a knee up under her chin.

"Unfortunately, change is one thing we often have very little control over," she observed.

"Yes, I know," conceded Jean Luc with a sigh. "If there is any constant in the universe, it is that nothing stays the same forever."

"Except perhaps friendship," offered Beverly with a smile, reaching over to take Jean Luc's hand. He squeezed her hand gratefully and was struck with the realization of how long it had been since he'd spoken like this with anyone. The understanding of how truly alone he had been on the _Enterprise_ struck him once again. Beverly must have seen something in his face.

"What?" she asked, her own smile fading.

Could he tell her? Should he tell her? She was his friend, wasn't she? His oldest and dearest friend.

"Jean Luc," she prompted. "What's wrong?"

He was surprised to hear how his own voice caught, as he replied.

"I…I was just realizing that it's been a very long time since I've been able to talk to anyone like this. I've missed your friendship very much."

An understanding smile returned to Beverly's face.

"I know…I've missed it too. To be honest…there's no one here I've really gotten to know well either. At times I feel rather…homesick for the _Enterprise_."

They were silent a moment, sharing their common loss.

"Are you hungry?" Beverly asked finally. "I've programmed the replicator with several of my grandmother's recipes…and don't worry…they're not traditional Scottish fare, I promise."

Jean Luc arched his eyebrows.

"Sounds intriguing…yes…I guess it has been a while since I've eaten." Food hadn't held much interest for him lately either. He thought of the birthday party he'd fled and shuddered inwardly.

He set the table while Beverly instructed the replicator. Before long two steaming bowls of vegetable soup and crusty bread sat in front of them.

"I was going to make a Vulcan dish…" Beverly began. It was an old joke between them. Jean Luc chuckled appreciatively.

"So, what is the _Enterprise_ up to these days?" Beverly asked between bites. Jean Luc was savoring the rich broth. The soup really was delicious. It took him a moment to answer.

"When I left we were transporting a small group of scientists and colonists to an M-class planet in the Ktara System. Very routine. Nothing too adventurous. What her current assignment is, I haven't a clue, although I suppose I should get up-to-date before I return next week."

"How was your archeological expedition?"

Jean Luc shrugged.

"I'd hardly call it an expedition. I merely assisted at a dig. Quite honestly, I found it rather tedious. I thought it would be a nice change of pace from the _Enterprise_, but it wasn't. I did stop to see Marie, however."

Beverly stopped her spoon in mid arch.

"You went home?" she asked quietly. "Is this the first time you've been back since…" Her voice trailed off, as if not sure if she should finish.

"Since the fire. Yes."

Beverly was silent for a moment.

"How is Marie doing?" It was a safe question.

"Quite well, actually. They've constructed a new house, a few hundred meters from where the old one was. A very good replica of the original."

Beverly was looking at him, waiting.

"She's hired one of the neighboring vintners to tend the vineyard and to make wine under the Picard label."

"Jean Luc…" her voice was tender. It nearly broke him.

"It was difficult, Beverly," he admitted, finally, setting his spoon in his bowl and sagging back in the chair. "My great-grandfather built that house. My grandfather was born there. And my father, as well as Robert and myself. To see it as ruins…."

Beverly's hand was across the table, taking his.

"I can't imagine what that must have been like for you."

Jean Luc heard his own words to Marie echo in Beverly. As kind as they were, he knew she really could not understand what he felt any more than he could comprehend Marie's loss.

"I couldn't help but think it was an apt symbol for the Picard family." Jean Luc could taste the bitterness in his own voice. "Charred timbers and ashes. The past banished to dust and no future except for the wind to blow it all away."

"Jean Luc…" he could hear her voice trying to dissuade him from his own imagery. He'd cast a pall over their dinner and he had to shake it off. For his own sake as well as hers. Up until now he'd been feeling quite content.

"I'm sorry, Beverly," he apologized, managing a fleeting smile. "I didn't mean to be so melodramatic. Actually, my visit there is one of the reasons I'm here. I wanted to ask you something." He picked up his spoon again and continued. "Your permission really. As it stands, Marie has lifetime rights to the chateau and the vineyards, but upon her death, the property will pass to me…or my heir. As I have no children of my own, I was wondering if you would have any objection to my naming Wesley as my heir. He may want to have nothing to do with the place, just as I didn't, but I thought, perhaps, he may find it a pleasant retreat when the rigors of space begin to creep up on him in years to come."

Beverly, he realized, had tears in her eyes. Jean Luc was confused.

"What is it?" he asked. "If you rather I not…."

"No…no!" interrupted Beverly. "It's perfectly fine with me…it's just that…well. I mean, I know Wesley always has looked up to you as a sort of surrogate father. I guess I just hadn't realized…"

"That I consider him…as a son…" finished Jean Luc. Beverly nodded. Jean Luc smiled at her "Well, I do. You've done a wonderful job, Beverly. He's a fine officer, and a good man."

"He's had a good role model," she told him meaningfully.

He tried to think of a way to deflect the intended compliment, but then decided not to. He did think of Wesley as a son, and part of him was proud to have been an important influence in his life.

As his eyes met Beverly's, an odd feeling came over him. It was a feeling that he had, more than once in his life, tried to bury when it came to her. For years he had lived with the guilt it had brought him…that he should have such feelings for the woman who was his best friend's wife. Time had worked in his favor for a while. Time and distance, and maturity, until he had convinced himself that he had distilled out of those feelings only the lasting affection of deep friendship and a kindredness born out of having been through so much together. But every once in a while, during the fifteen years they had served together aboard the _Enterprise_, something would challenge that carefully crafted paradigm of their relationship, and some element of those old feelings would manifest itself. Beverly herself had made it clear that this was a path she did not wish to journey down. But Jean Luc could not help the sudden longing he felt as he looked into the deep blue eyes of the woman he considered to be his best friend. In the dim light of the apartment, with the twinkling hovercraft traffic like a rare star field behind her, she was as beautiful as ever.

"Jean Luc…you're galaxies away…."

He blinked at her, startled.

"Oh…sorry. I was just thinking…" What? He couldn't tell her, of course. He tried to recall what they had been talking about.

Oh yes. Wesley.

"How does Wesley like it aboard the _Titan_?" he asked, trying to salvage some coherent thought from the barrage of emotions that were suddenly assaulting him.

"He loves it," she replied. "Will promoted him, you know. He's a lieutenant commander now."

Jean Luc nodded approvingly, making himself focus on the conversation. It worked.

"I knew it wouldn't take him long. Wesley's too talented and too dedicated. Will was keen to have him on his staff."

Beverly sighed.

"I'm just glad he's put that Traveler business behind him for now. I know Wesley has a special gift…but I confess, I don't really understand it. I don't suppose I ever will. But from a mother's point of view, it's rather unsettling to think about your son as being on another plane of existence. It's almost as if he's…" she stopped, shaking her head.

"Almost as if he were dead?" supplied Jean Luc. Beverly looked at him, sharply.

"Exactly! I mean, for centuries many people have postulated that death is merely passing from one plane of existence to another. It is difficult not to think about that when your son is phasing out of your visual range right before your eyes."

"I knew his leaving was difficult for you. I guess I never appreciated exactly how much," he said sympathetically.

"Oh, you know us mothers, Jean Luc," Beverly told him, trying to sound self-deprecating. "We have to be stoic when our children decide to go off and risk their lives. We're not allowed to wear our worry on our sleeves. I'm sure your mother was the same way."

Jean Luc smiled at a memory.

"She used to send me letters every week when I was at the Academy, reminding me to dress warmly and eat well. I received her last letter just after I'd been made captain of the _Stargazer_. She was proud, to be sure, but her biggest concern was whether or not I was getting enough sleep."

"See what I mean?" concluded Beverly. "We can't help it. It doesn't matter how old you are—or how many planes you can exist on simultaneously."

"I doubt one can ever fully appreciate the perils of parenthood unless one undertakes the venture personally," Jean Luc admitted. Did he detect a note of regret in his voice?

"Well, it won't be long until you can get Will Riker's perspective on the matter…at least from a father's point of view," Beverly told him.

Jean Luc raised his eyebrows.

"Is Deanna due that soon?"

Beverly had gone to a small cabinet and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. They returned to the sofa and settled in.

"Since she's only half-Betazoid, we're estimating full term will be somewhere between full human and full Betazoid…maybe about nine and a half months."

Jean Luc smiled broadly as he uncorked the bottle and let the wine breathe. It was a good California label, he noted.

"What?" asked Beverly, a smile appearing on her face as well.

"Oh, I was just thinking of a young, ambitious first officer who wanted no ties, no entanglements and who had this deep underlying belief that he was the galaxy's gift to the female gender."

Beverly laughed.

"Well, I have a feeling he was already pretty well entangled the day he discovered Deanna was on board. It just took him fifteen years to figure it out."

"Hmmm. You're probably right." Jean Luc poured a little of the wine into each of their glasses and swirled his own, watching the rich merlot color wash up the sides of the glass. "Fortunately for him, times have changed. Starfleet is allowing families back on board in limited numbers."

"So I understand," Beverly replied. She sipped her wine. "It's a far cry from when you took your first command."

Jean Luc nodded, still contemplating the wine.

"Back then very few officers who aspired to command permitted themselves to become seriously involved in any long-term relationships. Career or family—it was a choice." Jean Luc took a drink and concentrated on the slightly sweet flavor of the liquid as it lingered in his mouth. He was grateful for the opportunity to let Beverly think he was assessing the wine since his thoughts were suddenly in turmoil.

Understanding was beginning to take shape in his mind. The vague unsettled feelings he'd had for months…the ennui at the dig…the desire to return to France…and the excuse to come here—they were all part of the same picture. The image of his family home rose in his thoughts. Dust and ashes. Deserted. Abandoned. Without hope. Without meaning. Alone. Just like him.

He looked at Beverly and he suddenly understood. He understood what it was that had brought him here—what it was he'd unconsciously hoped would happen here. He understood what was missing from his life. And he realized, with a sudden pain of loss, that no matter how much he might wish it otherwise, the future he now wanted for himself was never to be.

It came in a flash. And in a flash he knew he could never let her know. Never let her suspect that this was why he was here. He wouldn't risk her friendship again, because, in the long run, he'd rather spend the rest of his life as her friend than as nothing at all.

He swallowed the wine and felt its pleasant warmth combat the chilling despair that had assailed him. It was time to change the subject.

"Excellent," he declared, forcing a smile. "Now…" he tried heading the conversation in a new direction. "Now I want to hear about you. Have things improved at Starfleet Medical since your last letter?"

It was Beverly's turn to frown. Jean Luc knew that Starfleet Medical had failed to live up to her expectations, despite having assurances from the upper echelons of Starfleet that she would have a free hand in its reorganization and redirection.

"Never underestimate a bureaucracy's ability to sustain itself, even with the slimmest of support," she said vehemently. "I swear, Jean Luc, it's like a life-form all its own. It lives and breathes completely independently; it most certainly produces more than its share of excrement; and it reproduces faster than a tribble in a grain bin. Some days it reminds me of the nursery on board the _Enterprise_…except the children were much better behaved!"

Jean Luc allowed himself a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" asked Beverly, sounding slightly irritated

"I was just thinking that it appears as though I'm not the only one having difficulty adapting to my new surroundings."

Beverly fixed him a glare, and then softened it.

"I suppose you're right," she finally admitted. "But I tell you Jean Luc, it's all I can do some days to keep from slapping them all silly."

He studied her for a moment, debating his next words, then decided to forge ahead. After all, he and Beverly had never pulled their punches with each other. They hadn't always seen eye to eye on every issue, but it wasn't for lack of communication.

"Would you mind a blunt observation from an old friend?" he offered.

"Not at all," Beverly replied eagerly.

"Beverly…what the hell are you doing here?" he asked her frankly. "I know you're a brilliant researcher and that you love it. I admit, I don't pretend to understand half the things you've developed over the years, but I do know that they've had real, practical application on my ship and on ships all over the fleet. I also know you have a real gift when it comes to caring for your patients. You're dedicated and committed to the preservation of all life, regardless of race or species. I've seen you struggle to save even our most dire enemies: the Borg…the Romulans…the Jem-Hadar. But answer me honestly. Have you had half the chance to do the research here as you had on board the _Enterprise_? Have you seen a single patient in the past 20 months? From what I gather, you push data padds and mediate interdisciplinary squabbles and try to keep all the little fiefdoms that have existed here for decades from imploding. Now if those are the kinds of things that make you want to get up in the morning, then you're a different person than I thought you were."

He saw Beverly flush at his words and he wondered if he'd gone too far. He knew her decision to accept the position as Surgeon General had been a difficult one for her. At the time he'd been hurt that she'd chosen not to share her struggle over it with him, although he understood why. He only hoped she didn't misinterpret his little diatribe to any left over animosity that time had caused.

He was relieved to see the familiar wry twist to her mouth as she replied: "Jean Luc…please…don't hold back. What do you really think?"

Emboldened, he set his wineglass on the table. The crystal made a musical tone as glass met glass. Leaning toward her intently he continued.

"We know each other too well. You're not happy here. I could tell it in your communiqués. You're a doctor…a healer, like your grandmother. You're not a bureaucrat any more than I am. You belong among the stars, Beverly. Not gazing at them from a glass tower."

This time she would not meet his gaze and she studied her wine for a moment.

"Boy, you let someone read your mind for a few hours once in a dozen years and they think they still can," she quipped half-heartedly.

"Beverly," pressed Jean Luc quietly. "You know I'm right."

"What if you are?" She raised her eyes this time and met him look for look. Her blue eyes glistened. "How can I leave? I'd lose all credibility."

"Credibility? With whom?"

"With Starfleet…with my colleagues…with you."

Now it was Jean Luc's turn to look surprised.

"Me?" he asked, incredulously.

"Twice I've left the _Enterprise_, looking for what must have seemed like greener pastures. I came running back once. I can't come running back again just because I dislike the choice I've made. Sometimes, Jean Luc, we have to stick with our decisions, even when we know we've made a bad one."

Jean Luc shifted himself closer to her on the sofa. He realized he'd touched a chord.

"Beverly…you don't have to prove anything to me. I know who you are…what you're capable of."

She shrugged off his reproof.

"Anyway," she added, sipping at her wine. "There's an eighteen month waiting list for a posting to the _Enterprise_ these days. And that's just for general medical staff. Kranston knows he's got a plum assignment as CMO. He'll never leave it in a million years."

Jean Luc knew he must have looked taken aback because Beverly managed a wan smile.

"I did look into, as you can tell," she admitted, sheepishly.

A spot of hope glowed on the horizon. If he could at least have her back on the _Enterprise_….

"Perhaps I could call in some favors" he began, but Beverly was shaking her head.

"Even if you had any left…which I highly doubt…you'll never budge him. His uncle is an admiral. Very well placed. He's there until he wants to leave. Which will be never, I'm sure."

Jean Luc sighed in frustration. Dammit. There had to be some way to get Kranston off his ship and Beverly back as CMO. While he realized now that it wasn't what he desired most, if he could at least get her back on board the _Enterprise_ he might find his life there marginally bearable again.

"Admiral Janeway…" he began, but Beverly was shaking her head again.

"Trust me, Jean Luc. I've tried." She looked away from him for a moment, as if trying to gather her own thoughts. When she finally faced him again, he saw her eyes were damp with emotion.

"When I left the _Enterprise_, I thought that this time I would be closing the chapter on a part of my life that I really hadn't done a very good job at managing."

Jean Luc looked at her in puzzlement. She had always done an excellent job at managing her life, he thought. He knew very few people who were as controlled and disciplined as Beverly Crusher.

"The thing is," she continued with a slight, bitter laugh. "No matter how much I thought I could just shut the door and go on…the damned door won't stay shut."

Jean Luc was still confused.

"This is very…difficult for me…" she began again.

Jean Luc looked at her tenderly.

"Beverly…I'm your friend. You know that. Whatever it is…you can tell me."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining. He could see some kind of debate with herself as she struggled over her response.

"No…I don't think I can…" she said finally, shaking her head.

He reached his hand out and touched her cheek. It was an instinctive move. She winced, as if he had burned her. He pulled his hand away. She must have seen the hurt in his eyes for she reached out and caught his hand.

"Jean Luc…I'm sorry…it's just that I…"

He was concerned now.

"Beverly…what's wrong?"

She was still shaking her head, regaining her composure.

"Nothing…it's nothing. It's just that…" she paused. He could tell she was editing whatever her true thoughts were. "I guess I've missed you too," were all the words she could manage. Her hand went up to his cheek. The warmth of her fingers surprised him.

He couldn't help himself. He took the hand that rested on his cheek and turning it palm up, he kissed it.

"Beverly, I…."

But he never got to finish. She had leaned over to him and was kissing him. It was a kiss she had given him once before, but in a timeline only he remembered, and under circumstances that were vastly different from any that had transpired since. This was the same kiss…long and lingering and filled with something that he thought only he had kept buried for these many years.

Finally.

"Jean Luc…" whispered Beverly, leaning her forehead against his. His heart sank.

"I know," he said hoarsely. He had been through this before. "I should be going."

He started to pull away, but she was shaking her head.

"No…I mean…dammit! Dammit!" she murmured, pulling herself back, her hands balled into fists.

Jean Luc took one of those fists between his hands.

"Hey…" he said, soothingly. "Beverly…."

She looked at him imploringly.

"Do you ever wish you could go back and change one choice you've made in your life?"

The question struck Jean Luc hard. Go back and change something. He'd had that chance. Q had given it to him when his artificial heart had been damaged. With the maturity that came from 30 years of additional living, he'd gone back and avoided the fight that had damaged his organic heart in the first place. It had seemed like such a little thing. But the consequences of it had been huge. He'd learned his lesson.

Still…to go back and change one thing. He thought of Jack Crusher. Would he change that? Save Jack…save Beverly and Wesley the anguish they'd suffered? Had Jack lived… so much of the future would have been altered. Jack's death had propelled Beverly more fully into her career…had driven Wesley to excel at many things…had made Jean Luc value his friendships more deeply. Who would each of them be, had Jack lived?

What else might he change? Tasha Yar sprang to mind. So young. So vital. Like a daughter. What if he had not sent her to Varga III? Would she have returned with the _Enterprise_ _C_ in the alternate timeline? Would her daughter Sela never have been born, never have led a Romulan plot to separate the Klingon and Federation alliance? Would there have been peace sooner with the Romulans? Would the Reamans never have revolted? Would Data have lived?

And what of Data? What choice could he have made that would have spared his friend and trusted advisor? And had he made it, would the quadrant now be saturated with Theleron radiation? Would one man…one android's life have cost the lives of millions…billions of beings? The possibilities made Jean Luc shake his head.

"I have learned," he said carefully, "that the choices we make at the time we make them are a reflection of who we are at that time. To try to go back with 20/20 hindsight and critique our decisions not only takes away from who we were at the time we made them, but demonstrates how little we understand about the far-reaching consequences of our actions, both to our own future and the future of others."

His carefully worded response, he realized, had done nothing to lessen the distressed look on Beverly's face. He had, perhaps, over-analyzed her question. He took a different tact.

"On the other hand, who among us doesn't wish we'd have said no, when we said yes, or turned left, instead of right or…."

"…or stayed, instead of walked away," she finished for him. He waited for her to continue.

"Do you recall our dinner the night we were rescued from KessPrytt?" she asked finally.

Jean Luc nodded. It was a night indelibly etched in his memory. After a psi wave transmitter had been implanted in them by the Prytt Alliance, they had tapped into each others thoughts and emotions. She had discovered then the depth of his feelings toward her, and although she had not spoken of hers, he had felt their presence in return. Yet that night after dinner in his cabin, when Jean Luc had suggested those feelings might be worth exploring, Beverly had made a hasty retreat.

"I almost came back," she told him. "I can still hear the sound of your cabin door closing behind me. I wanted more than anything to turn around and come back in…I very nearly did. And that night…and many days since, I've regretted it. I've regretted that I didn't have the courage to come back to you."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked quietly, stunned at her confession. For years he had thought that he'd embarrassed her by his declaration; that he'd offended her by telling her how he'd loved her for years.

"I knew I'd hurt you," she stammered. "I didn't want to damage our friendship any further…and I felt guilty too."

"Guilty?"

Beverly took a deep breath as though what she was about to say required a great deal of effort.

"On KessPrytt you made me face some things I never had, Jean Luc. I realized that, even when I was married to Jack, part of me had some very strong feelings for you. I…I didn't like discovering that. It was as if, in some way, I had been unfaithful to him."

Jean Luc was shaking his head vehemently.

"But you…we…never acted upon those feelings. And it is our actions, not our thoughts, which define what kind of person we are," Jean Luc reassured her, amazed at finding himself capable of even uttering a word at this time. His heart was pounding in his ears.

"Still," said Beverly, with a note of regret.

Jean Luc found himself nodding in understanding. It had been nearly twenty-seven years, and still the ghost of Jack Crusher remained with them both.

"So…" he half-sighed, finally.

"So…" answered Beverly, a sad smile played at the corner of her lips.

A thought struck Jean Luc. He had no idea if it would help, but given where the conversation had taken them, there was little left to risk.

"Beverly," he said softly, gently unfolding her tensed fingers which he still held in his hand. He took a deep breath. "Jack has been dead for a very long time. No one has mourned him more than you and I. But I believe it is time we both let him go, or he will always be there, in some way, between us. And I do not think he would have wanted that."

Her fingers traced the back of his hand that covered hers.

"I know," she said simply. "It took me a long time to figure that out, but I finally realized he would have wanted both of us to find happiness…even if that happiness was with each other."

"So, what do we do now?" he asked, half afraid of the answer.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Jean Luc felt a sense of déjà vu.

"I mean…" he paused. He had walked this path before, but he wondered if, this time, it might lead to a different place. A few minutes ago he had vowed never to let her know; now he knew it was perhaps his last and only chance. He decided to put all his cards on the table.

"I mean, I don't need time to explore my feelings for you," he told her. "I have loved you, Beverly, for most of my life and I don't expect those feelings to ever change. But if all you can offer me is your friendship, I will accept it, and gladly. As incomplete as it would be, I would still rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all."

"I think we both know it's not as simple as that," she replied, hesitantly.

"Isn't it?" he asked, his eyes fixed on hers. In those blue eyes that met his, he saw the last barrier begin to waiver. When she finally spoke, he hardly could believe her words.

"I do love you, Jean Luc," she admitted finally, her hand caressing his face. "I have loved you—longer, even than I ever realized. It's just…" she smiled weakly. "I guess I'm still afraid."

He grasped her hand and pressed it to his heart, pulling her close to him.

"So am I," he confessed in a half-whisper as he drew her to him and kissed her. He kissed her as he had dreamed of doing for twenty-seven years.

This time she did not pull away.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The coffee was the perfect temperature. It was always the perfect temperature—hot enough to generate the optimal flavor, cool enough not to burn the roof of one's mouth on the first sip. Data had shown her once how to program the food replicator in Sickbay to achieve the perfect temperature every time. Beverly had programmed her own personal replicator in her quarters on the _Enterprise_, and she had made certain that the same adjustments were made on the replicator in her apartment. It was one of many things she would always be grateful to Data for. Another was the man sitting across from her, drinking that perfect cup of coffee. If not for Data it would have been Jean Luc's atoms scattered across the Neutral Zone instead of sitting here now, this morning, across from her looking pensive.

His look troubled her.

"Penny for your thoughts," she offered. He chuckled at her familiar cliché.

"I was just thinking," he replied. "How much I've missed this. How much I've missed you."

"Oh, is that all," she said, with mock disappointment. Within, however, she was relieved. She had been worried he might be having regrets. They had crossed a new threshold in their relationship the night before. Where it left them now, she wasn't sure.

Jean Luc was shaking his head.

"No…that's not all. I can't lose you again. Beverly," he set down his coffee cup with a clatter. "Come back to the _Enterprise_ with me."

Now it was Beverly's turn to shake her head.

"I told you last night…I can't. I was told in no uncertain terms that I'd be emptying bedpans on a freighter if I requested another transfer now. And as far as the _Enterprise _is concerned…it won't happen, Jean Luc. You don't have enough favors to call in for this one."

But Jean Luc was gazing at her with a look she knew too well. He already had a plan.

"No…you're right. I used up my last bit of political capital arranging my sudden departure for this sabbatical. But," he paused for a moment. An uncharacteristic look of self-doubt seemed to hang about him. "It would be difficult for them to deny a transfer…to the wife of the captain of the _Enterprise_."

It took Beverly a moment to register what Jean Luc had just said. She set her own coffee cup down, rather unsteadily. Her hand, it seemed, was shaking.

"Jean Luc," she asked hesitantly. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

And for one of the rare times in her life, she saw Jean Luc blush.

"And doing it badly, by the look of it," he replied with a nervous smile. "Would you prefer I get down on one knee?"

"No! It's just…I mean I…." Words escaped her. Whatever she had expected him to say, it hadn't been this.

Emotions and images swept over her in a confusing jumble. Jack's proposal. A young, cocky Jean Luc Picard giving the toast at their wedding. Jean Luc, wounded in body and spirit, bringing Jack's body home to her. Her first day on the _Enterprise_. All the times and all the missions when she believed that this man she had come to care about too would be taken out of her life. How it was finally she who decided she must walk away, and how very lonely and far away earth had seemed when she'd said her last good-bye.

If she removed Jean Luc Picard from the replay of her life, what would her life have been? And if she tried to imagine a future in which he had no part in her life, what kind of a future would that be? Hadn't one of her reasons for coming to Starfleet Medical been with the intent of assuring that there was a future for her that included Jean Luc Picard?

She realized the shock must be registering on her face. Jean Luc had gone rather pale at her silence.

"I mean…I realize in some ways this is rather sudden…but, dammit, Beverly, we need to make every moment count!" he told her passionately.

She looked at his hopeful face, lined more now than she'd remembered it. She'd studied that face in Sickbay more times than she cared to recall. If she looked carefully enough, she could still make out the faint scars from where the Borg implants had been. The memory of the sick sensation she had fought when she realized he had been assimilated returned to her. She had thought she had lost him then. And too many times after that as well. She would not lose him again.

Still, she had one lingering doubt.

"What about Q?" she asked quietly.

"Q? What about him?" Jean Luc's irritation at the entity's mere name was evident.

"I was thinking about the future Q showed you. Where you and I married…and then divorced." The image of the future Jean Luc had shared with them had shadowed her all these years.

Jean Luc reached across the table and took her hand. She had the feeling he had given this matter a great deal of thought, for his response came without hesitation.

"Beverly… I prefer to think of the future as not yet having been written. There is nothing that I saw in that timeline that has come to pass…it was but one possible thread in a tapestry of infinite possibilities. We will weave a different pattern in our future. I will not allow Q to do it for us."

Beverly searched his face, and found only his absolute faith in what he had just said. She found herself shaking her head in disbelief. If anyone had told her twenty-four hours ago that she would be making this decision….

"Yes…" she said, incredulously. "Yes…I will…."

"Beverly, I know…what did you say?"

She smiled. The look of astonishment on his face was priceless.

"I said, I will marry you, Jean Luc Picard."

He gaped at her, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face.

"Really…? I mean…really!"

For a moment she thought he seemed as giddy as a schoolboy.

"Why not?" she laughed.

Jean Luc shook his finger at her.

"You won't regret it…I promise."

For some reason, she found it to be a sobering remark.

"I'd better not," Beverly replied, with a deadly earnestness. She followed this with a kiss so passionately fierce that they did not emerge from her apartment until well past noon.

o-o-o-o

"I only have one request, Jean Luc," said Beverly as they walked arm in arm through the well manicured pathways on the grounds of the vast Starfleet complex. Over the treetops the ever-present arches of the New Golden Gate Bridge glistened in the early afternoon sun. Beverly had cleared her calendar for the day, much to the consternation of her assistant, who had offered to drop by and help Beverly out, since obviously only the most dire of circumstances must have prevented her from coming to work. Beverly had very deftly deflected the offer of assistance, and then suggested that she and Jean Luc go out for a while, since she was quite certain the dogged assistant would turn up anyway.

"It doesn't involve getting married on Betazed, does it," he replied trepidatiously. Will and Deanna's second marriage ceremony on Deanna's home planet had been held in the ancient Betazed tradition, as dictated by Lwaxana Troi: the entire wedding party, including the guests, attended naked. Beverly chose to ignore his response.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather do this quietly, without a lot of fanfare. Between your fame and my position, I'm worried this could become something of a media circus if word of it gets out."

"Hmm," mused Jean Luc. "I see your point. Yes, this would be just the thing Starfleet brass would love to make into a state occasion. Admirals. Ambassadors. Representatives from far-flung solar systems."

"You're making fun of me," Beverly accused him.

"No…not really," he said in earnest. " You're right. It could turn into something a great deal more than either of us would like. I'd rather it just be the two of us and our closest family."

"I'm afraid family is something both you and I are a little short on, Jean Luc," Beverly pointed out.

"Oh I think I can manage…Boothby?"

They had stopped beside an elderly man who was on his knees to the side of the path, carefully digging in one of the gardens, grumbling to himself. At the sound of his name he looked up and squinted, moving his hand to block the sun in order to see who had spoken. Recognition lit his pale blue eyes.

"Oh. Picard. So it's you again, is it?" he asked in what Picard knew was mock irritation. "What is this, homecoming week? I thought you had a spaceship to run or something."

"It's good to see you Boothby. I wasn't sure…" Picard's voice trailed off.

"Oh I'm not dead. Not yet, anyway. Besides. If I go, who'll keep these cadets from trampling all over the gardens? Somebody's got to keep them in line, even if it is a semi-cadaver." He looked over at Beverly, studying her for a few moments.

"Howard, wasn't it? Married that Jack Crusher fellow. Terrible tragedy, that was. One son—Wesley? The cadet in the Nova Squadron incident. Good boy. Finally got his head screwed on right. Hear he's on the_ Titan _these days."

Beverly's jaw dropped in amazement.

"What are you…telepathic?"

Jean Luc chuckled.

"Very little gets by the wisest man at the Academy," he informed her with a grin.

Boothby harrumphed. He was studying the two of them now.

"So. You two finally going to tie the knot, eh? Well, it's about time, if you ask me."

Now it was Jean Luc's turn to be astonished.

"How on earth did you…?"

"Huh? What. Know there was something between the two of you? Don't you think I haven't seen enough young cadets moon-eyed around here for the past 65 years to know a newly-minted couple when I see one? Besides." He turned back to his digging. "Young Crusher told me once he thought the two of you belonged together. Said it was some kind of galactic balance, or some nonsense like that. What do I know? Anyway. Congratulations, I guess. Hope you're happy."

Stunned to speechlessness, Beverly and Jean Luc moved on. After awhile, Beverly finally spoke.

"This may be more difficult to keep quiet than I thought."

Jean Luc grinned again.

"Boothby has always had unusually keen insight. I doubt if a simple walk together would set any other tongues wagging around here. Besides," he continued. "I have an idea as to how we can not make this a grand Starfleet event, but I need to send a subspace message."

"I believe I can help with that," replied Beverly, squeezing his arm. With that, she guided their steps toward the long low building that was Starfleet Medical.

o-o-o-o

"Back doors come in very useful," offered Beverly, shuffling through the padds that were piled on her desk. They had managed to slip in unobserved by any of her staff. She was determined not to do any work while she was here, but she couldn't just ignore the pile. Besides, the uplink Jean Luc had requested through her computer was taking its own time.

One padd caught her eye, and she set the others aside to read it. Slowly a smile spread over her face. If she'd had any doubts about leaving behind the work she'd tried to initiate at SFM, this dispersed them all. It didn't matter now, if she left. One of her main goals in coming had been accomplished. Things would continue as she had hoped, no matter who was at the helm. She could resign now with a clear conscience.

She pressed a button to acknowledge her receipt of the letter and set it in her outbox to be filed. Jean Luc was too busy drumming his fingers on the desk, waiting for the uplink to pay any attention to it. Therefore, he did not read the padd subject line:

"Irimodic Syndrome Research Institute Grant Approved."

o-o-o-o

Captain William T. Riker of the _USS Titan_ sat in his ready room studying a padd with the latest report from astrometrics. It dealt at some length with a detailed description of their latest mapping of the Zelphata Nebula, on the Romulan edge of the Neutral Zone. Efforts with the Task Force Riker had headed up after the Shinzon incident had gone well. And while full diplomatic and economic relations were still several task forces away, they had agreed to limited exploration and scientific study in areas previously off-limits to both sides.

The _Titan_ had just spent three weeks in formerly Romulan space, studying this nebula. While Riker was sure the effort was worth it, from an astrophysicists point of view, it had been a rather dull three weeks, making what was already an interminable time for him and Deanna pass even more slowly.

_Although Data would have disagreed with that_, he found himself thinking. No…Data would have pointed out—as Riker recalled him doing on at least one occasion-- that time, at least how humanoids perceive it, is a constant and is incapable of going either faster or slower. Thus the phrases "time flies" or "time drags" are inaccurate representations of time, in that the rate at which time passes does not change.

Riker found that he frequently pondered matters from Data's point of view, now that the android was no longer around. He had become so used to Data's perspective on things, that he often found himself trying to analyze things from the android's point of view. Data's take on things had been unique, and sometimes, Riker had to admit, it helped him get a handle on things. He felt Data's absence a great deal, and it was comforting to have a Data-view of the universe play inside his head from time to time.

No…Data would not agree that time dragged. But Riker knew it did. He was so glad to be done with the nebula assignment that he had ordered their return to Federation space at twice the necessary speed…as if that somehow would move time ahead to the date he and Deanna were waiting for.

His communicator beeped and his communications officer's voice drifted from the com overhead.

"Captain…an incoming message, marked personal."

"Is it from Starfleet?" Riker asked.

"I…I don't believe so, sir. Not exactly."

Riker frowned.

"Not exactly? Then put it through to my personal mailbox, I'll read it later."

"Ah sir, it's transmitted from Starfleet Medical…but it's tagged as coming from Captain Picard of the _Enterprise_."

Riker sat straight up. Captain Picard at Starfleet Medical? This did not sound good.

"Put it through, Lieutenant," he instructed. Within seconds the logo of Starfleet Medical was on his screen, replaced in another few seconds with the face of his friend and former captain. Much to Riker's relief, Picard looked hale and hearty.

"Will…good to see you!" The captain's voice seemed to match his appearance.

"You too, Captain. This is quite a surprise. Are you all right?"

A puzzled look came over Picard's face, but then he understood.

"Fine, fine. Just using a borrowed uplink. How's Deanna?"

Riker gave a crooked smile.

"Well, she'd kill me if she knew I said this, but this pregnancy has brought out certain Lwaxana-like traits in her. I'm hoping once the hormones settle down, I'll get back the Deanna I know and love. But, other than being about as big as a Terrelian glump-beast, she's fine. I thought you were on sabbatical?"

Picard grinned.

"No secrets in Starfleet are there? Yes…I am still on sabbatical…another two weeks, actually. In fact, that's the reason I called…I'd like to ask a favor."

"Name it," said Riker, without hesitation. For Jean Luc Picard, he would go to hell and back.

The next part came with a bit of uncharacteristic hesitation.

"I'm…ah…I'm getting married, Will, and I was wondering if you would do us the honor of conducting the ceremony."

Riker blinked at the image on the screen. His hearing must be going. Or there was a poor connection.

"I'm sorry, Sir…I must have misunderstood…I thought you said you were getting married."

"You heard me right, Number One," Picard fell into his old name for his former first officer. Riker didn't mind. It sounded good. But the rest of it….

"You're kidding!" was all he could reply. Now the captain actually chuckled.

"Of course if you'd rather not…" he started to say.

"No…no…!" Riker interjected. "I'd be delighted…it's just that this is…well, this is going to take some getting used to, Sir. I…I mean we…I mean…" Riker swallowed. "If I may ask Sir…who are you marrying?"

Riker had spoken with Geordi LaForge about a week after Captain Picard had left on his sabbatical. They had known the captain was heading for some archeological dig and wasn't due to be back for three months. Geordi had also mentioned some concerns he'd had about the captain…how he hadn't been himself the past several months, and how the crew just hadn't come together as he had hoped it would. Riker had visions of Picard going through some mid-life crisis, about to marry a dabo-girl he met in a seedy bar on some far flung planet.

It was then a familiar face leaned in behind Picard on the screen.

"Hello, Will," said the voice that belonged to Beverly Crusher. Riker's response was automatic upon seeing his friend and former crewmate.

"Beverly…hi…do you know…."

It was then that the light dawned.

Beverly grinned as she watched understanding take form on Will Riker's face.

"Wait," he said, now starting to smile himself. "You mean the two of you…after all these years…"

"Hey," interrupted Picard. "Who's talking?"

"I don't believe it. Well, actually, yes…yes I do. And I know a Klingon that owes me some latinum."

He saw Captain Picard and Beverly exchange looks.

"You don't mean to say, Will, that you had a bet…" began Picard. Riker felt sheepish.

"It was a long time ago…I'd completely forgotten about it until now. But Worf is an honorable fellow…he'll pay up. And the drinks will be on me."

They spent several minutes discussing how and where it would be best for the _Cousteau_ to rendezvous with the _Titan_ Their current destination put them in a sector where they could meet up with the captain's yacht in a little over four standard days. There would be plenty of time to prepare. Picard also had one more request.

"And Will, we're trying to keep this off the general sensor sweep, if you know what I mean. I have to clear Beverly's transfer with Admiral Janeway, but aside from that, we're just keeping it simple."

Riker nodded.

"I understand sir. Don't worry. I will make all the arrangements. You know, Deanna is going to be delighted to hear this. She's going to be so happy for the both of you…as am I."

"Thank you, Will," said Beverly. "Tell her I'll be in touch with her soon."

After they had signed off and the Starfleet logo replaced the faces of his friends, Riker sat back in his chair, grinning. He pushed aside the padd from astrometrics and headed out the door toward the captain's quarters. This was just too good. He had to tell Deanna.

"Oh my god, you're kidding? No…you're not kidding! Oh, this is wonderful!" gushed Deanna, a little more exuberantly than Will knew she would have had her body not been over-saturated with human and Betazoid hormones. Her face was glistening, but Will knew it was just perspiration from the effort it took her to move to sitting position on the edge of the bed. The image of the Terrelian glump-beast sprang back into Will's mind, but he forced it away. Deanna was experiencing heightened telepathy these days and he knew she would not be thrilled to find that picture running through his thoughts.

"We'll rendezvous with them in four days. That should give me plenty of time to make the proper arrangements," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Will Riker, what are you up to?" Deanna asked suspiciously. When he had laid out his plan, she shook her head in amazement.

"Only you would be that bold," she told him. "I love it."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Jean Luc—I expected you to still be on the ruin at Aloris IV." The face of Admiral Kathryn Janeway had a placid, if expectant look to it as she shook Picard's hand and motioned him to the chair in front of her desk. Offering him some coffee, which he declined, she poured herself a cup and returned to her seat, awaiting his response.

"I was there for eight weeks—an absolutely breath-taking place. They've made several amazing discoveries."

Janeway nodded.

"I can imagine. The Fuezelia culture's disappearance has been a mystery for millennia. This may finally shed some light on their fate."

Picard was impressed.

"I didn't know you were a student of archeology," he told her. She shrugged.

"More anthropology—something I picked up while in the Delta Quadrant. When every race you meet is entirely unknown, you become a quick study in cultures and history."

She fixed him a look.

"So—what can I do for you, Captain? I'm sure you didn't just pop in to say hello."

Picard liked Janeway. She never beat around the bush. As admirals went, she was as straight-forward and honest as they came. Her quick promotion to the rank following her return from the Delta Quadrant was a surprise to no one, and few felt rankled by her leap-frogging to the position. The general consensus was, she had earned it.

Picard knew he had to be as straightforward.

"You're right. This isn't just a social call. I have a request."

"Jean Luc…" she began, trying not to sound exasperated. He knew he'd pushed her nearly as far as he could in the area of special treatment. But this one was by the book.

"This is not a favor, Admiral," Picard assured her. "This falls well within the Starfleet regulation rulebook."

"I'm listening," she replied, sounding somewhat intrigued.

"I would like to request a transfer to the _Enterprise_ for my…" he paused. "Wife."

Kathryn Janeway just stared. Picard smothered a smile. She was as shocked as he had expected her to be. It was a reaction he was getting used to. There was something rather satisfying about it.

"Your…wife?" she finally managed to croak, incredulity dripping from her voice.

"Well, technically, she's not my wife yet—but we will be married by the time we return to the _Enterprise_," he explained.

Janeway had still barely recovered.

"She's in Starfleet?"

"Yes. She holds the rank of Commander."

"You want her as your First Officer?" Disbelief still rang in Janeway's voice.

"Actually, no. She's a physician. I want her as CMO. She's held the position before," he explained lightly.

Light dawned in Janeway's eyes.

"Beverly Crusher?"

Picard nodded.

"That's right."

"But she's head of Starfleet Medical," Janeway told him, as if he didn't already have that information.

"She is willing to resign that position for a posting back to the _Enterprise_."

Janeway leaned back in her chair, as if she need the support in order to be able to process what he was telling her.

"Admiral Kranston's nephew is your CMO now, isn't he," she finally said, putting all the pieces together.

"Yes," was all Picard said. He knew he didn't need to belabor the point. Janeway understood what he was asking. Technically, it was by the book. Politically, it was a twelve thousand pound elephant. Janeway knew it. She squinted at him.

"That's not going to be pleasant. You're not going to make any friends under that flag, Jean Luc," she warned him. "But, you're right. Starfleet regs do give captain's spouses preferential postings. I will make the necessary arrangements."

"Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate it." Picard replied sincerely.

Janeway studied him.

"You'd better. Kranston's going to go on a tear when he gets word of this. Well, I'll try to find some bone to throw him. Maybe it will keep him quiet. And I'll…ah… make sure he's out of there before you return to the _Enterprise_."

She sat back and stared at him further.

"Jean Luc," she finally confessed. "I'm still in shock. Of all the people…." She shook her head.

"Didn't think I had it in me?" he asked with a wry smile.

"It's not that…well, not exactly. You've just always seemed the lone wolf type. No ties. Ready for the next great adventure."

"Perhaps this is the next great adventure, Admiral," suggested Picard.

She eyed him.

"How long were you and your crew together on the _Enterprise_, Captain?" she asked.

"Nearly sixteen years," he replied, not even having to do the math. She smiled knowingly.

"That's not a crew, Captain. That's a family. Take it from someone who knows." She paused, musing. "When _Voyager_ returned from the Delta Quadrant, it was quite a homecoming."

Picard smiled.

"I recall," he told her.

"We spent nearly seven years out there, Jean Luc," she continued. "Not a day went by that I didn't wish we were home. Not an hour passed where getting home wasn't our single most driving force. Yet, once we'd made it back—once _Voyager_ had slid through that transwarp conduit—I was terrified. Worse—I was lonely. All the people I had depended upon for all of those years—taken away. Reassigned. Promoted. Resigned. Hell…there are days I even miss our Talaxian cook who stayed behind in the Delta Quadrant…and if you'd ever tasted Neelix's food…. Anyway. Some days I find myself thinking perhaps it might have been better to have remained there."

Picard took a deep breath. He had been expecting something like this.

"I understand what you're trying to say, Admiral," he told her. "You're concerned that this is some kind of reaction to the dispersement of my crew. I suppose I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge that my decision was somehow precipitated by those events. And yes, my crew was very much my family. But families grow and they change. And I find it naïve and slightly unfair for people to accept change and growth in other members of my crew, but dismiss changes in me as reactionary and sentimental."

He paused a moment, reflecting.

"I believe I have as much right to grow and explore other avenues of my being as does Captain Riker or Doctor Crusher, or even you, Admiral. You could have chosen to remain in the captain's chair, but you accepted an opportunity to take a different path. For several years now I have come to realize that there was a path in my life that I regret not having pursued. The changes on board the _Enterprise_ twenty months ago helped bring several things into focus for me. My relationship with Dr. Crusher was one of them."

He hadn't meant to launch into a defensive speech, especially since he knew Janeway had always supported him. He'd had enough dealings with the upper brass of Starfleet, however, to know that there were those who had their political photon torpedoes sited on him and the _Enterprise_. Any misstep or perceived errors of judgment and the _Enterprise_ would be escorting cadets on their first rotation through the Jupiter Run. He was not a tired old commander mourning the past, and he wanted it at least on Janeway's mental record that this was a well-thought-out decision on his behalf. She just didn't need to know that it had been well-thought-out on the conscious level for only about twelve hours.

Janeway regarded him with what he thought to be some measure of respect.

"I stand corrected, Captain," she conceded. "Very well. I will take care of the paperwork."

Picard nodded and rose to leave. Janeway stopped him.

"After today, Jean Luc, nothing will ever surprise me again. And you'd better believe…coming from me, that's saying a lot."

Picard smiled at her, appreciatively.

"Oh…and congratulations, Captain. I wish you all happiness." She offered Picard her hand.

"Thank you, Admiral," he replied, taking it. "I believe I already have it."

Beverly Crusher looked around the nearly empty apartment and sighed. It had never really felt like home, she concluded. It was as if some part of her had always known that her stay here wasn't permanent. No. Home was where she was going. And whom she was going with.

She glanced at the single container waiting by the door. Each time she had left earth for a deep space assignment, she had left parts of her life behind in storage. For her first posting to the _Enterprise_, she'd put all of Jack's things in storage. She'd held on to them for many years, not willing to part with them. Later on, she was glad she had. As Wesley became old enough, they became a connection to his father, and he had told her more than once how he had appreciated and even treasured those mementos.

On her second posting to the _Enterprise_, she'd had less to go to storage. Books, mostly. A few artifacts she'd picked up across the galaxy, but decided weren't quite right for her modest quarters back onboard ship.

This time, the storage box was even smaller in size. Not because she was taking so much more with her, but because there was so little to either take or leave behind. She hadn't realized, until she saw her belongings prepared for transfer to storage or to the yacht, just how little of herself she had invested in her living quarters. It was almost as if she had somehow known, on a subconscious level, that she would not be staying here long. Like one of the tribes of ancient nomadic earth cultures, she needed to be able to pack up and leave on a moment's notice.

Just as she was doing.

She mentally reviewed the inventory of the small box ready to be beamed for storage, wondering if there were any other items she could thin out from it, any unnecessary elements from this brief and rather disconnected part of her life. No, she decided, she'd discarded pretty much all the extraneous things; all that remained were those items she felt she really must keep, at least for a while longer. A moment later a transporter beam glistened over the storage box and it vanished. With a satisfied nod she picked up the remaining Starfleet issue crew case and signaled Jean Luc for transport. It was, she decided, time to go home.

"How long until we reach the _Titan_," Beverly asked, settling more comfortably into the ops station on the captain's yacht. Jean Luc checked the onboard chrono.

"At warp five, sixty-two hours, twenty-seven minutes," he replied.

"And when are we due to report back to the _Enterprise_?"

"Ten days from now. The _Titan_ will rendezvous with her near Delphos VI."

Beverly made a little sound of surprise. Jean Luc glanced at her.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "I just thought…."

"That we'd have a little longer honeymoon?" Jean Luc finished for her. Beverly nodded.

"I'm afraid a week will have to do. I couldn't beg, borrow or steal another day even if I tried. What few favors I had with Starfleet have all been used."

Beverly checked her display station and saw everything was good to go.

"I'm amazed you've been able to accomplish what you have. Getting Kranston off the ship was no small feat," she acknowledged. Jean Luc harrumphed.

"Well, Janeway really couldn't fight me on that one…not that she would have. It was a by-the-book request. You simply get preferential posting."

"And someday, when I'm captain of my own ship, I'll be sure to return the favor," said Beverly sweetly.

"I'll be delighted," Jean Luc replied tossing her a smile. "So…any ideas on where we should go—for a honeymoon, that is?" Beverly's response was quick.

"As long as it doesn't involve archeology, medicine or Romulans, I'm open for suggestions."

Jean Luc chuckled.

"How about mountain climbing?"

Beverly glared at him. Her fear of heights had been one of the secrets he had learned from her on KessPrytt.

"Oh yes. Let's," she said dryly.

"Seriously," Jean Luc continued, carefully maneuvering the _Cousteau_ away from it's docking ring. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to spend a little time onboard the _Titan_. I'm sure Will and Deanna wouldn't mind. And you could get caught up with Wesley."

Beverly watched as the space port began to slowly grow smaller on the reverse view of the main screen. It was no where near the size of the _Enterprise's_ main viewer, but it was more than adequate for the yacht.

"Hmm. Visiting my son as part of a honeymoon. Really Jean Luc, I thought you were more of a romantic than that," she scolded him. In some ways his idea was appealing, on the other hand…who knew when they would next be able to get time away from command together. She felt they should seize the opportunity while they had it.

"Well, I do have a Dixon Hill holoprogram that has more than a little romance in it…" Jean Luc offered.

Beverly gave him a sour look.

"Getting shot at by a bunch of twentieth century thugs is not exactly my idea of romantic. Where is the _Titan_, anyway?

"Right now they're in the Denali System. They had to off-load some astrophysicists at Starbase 721," came his reply. The main viewer had reverted back to a forward scan and she could see Earth's moon off to the starboard side, Lake Armstrong sparkling in the sunlight.

"That sounds delightfully uneventful, after so many years of war," she remarked as the moon slid by and she could see the beacons ahead marking the outer perimeter of the Mars defense field. Jean Luc adjusted his controls and they bypassed Mars, sailing on past toward Jupiter.

"Yes, I suppose it does," Jean Luc replied, fiddling with the controls. Beverly continued to monitor their course, but the computer was doing all the work.

"Why do I think that you just said it was boring?" Beverly asked him, sitting back and folding her arms.

"Hmm. What? Boring? No…not really. It's just…well, we've all been on war-footing for so long, some of the more ordinary missions we've undertaken have been, well, rather mundane."

Beverly stared at him, hard.

"What is it about you men that makes you find war so damn exciting?"

Jean Luc looked up from his piloting, obviously taken aback at her response.

"I do not find war exciting," he replied, defensively. "It is an option of last resort…to preserve what we have worked centuries to achieve and to prevent those who would take it away from us from doing so."

Beverly sighed.

"I suppose it's naïve to think that scientific exploration and discovery will ever again be the primary role of Starfleet," she said, resignedly, staring at the multi-colored rings of Jupiter. True, Starfleet had always had some military aspect to it, but during most of her years in its service, it had enjoyed unprecedented peace.

"I'm sure there were similar sentiments following the initial conflict with the Klingons and the Tholians. Still, you may be right. Between the Borg and the Dominion, the Federation has been faced with just about as intractable an enemy as we've ever encountered. Who knows what else may be out there, waiting their turn. It's made the Federation very skittish."

Beverly recalled the spate of meetings she had been required to attend, all dealing with Starfleet's concern over where the next threat would arise. It was as if, having faced two near defeats in a single decade, they now expected yet another invasion to be inevitable. To Beverly, it bordered on paranoia, yet she had to admit there was credence to their concerns. As the _Starship Voyager_ had discovered, the Delta Quadrant was filled with a host of species, some friendly, some not. The universe was too vast to know what other unpleasant surprises it may hold.

"I'm just worried we'll become too accustomed to war," she said after a while. "If you'd been around as many admirals as I've been lately, you'd be concerned too. It's almost as though they can't stand down from red alert. The wonder of space exploration has given way to nothing but discussion over the strategic placements of outposts, border patrols and secret operations. Studying stellar nurseries and mapping unexplored regions of space…well, no one wants those jobs anymore. They're just not exciting enough," she lamented.

Jean Luc nodded.

"Unfortunately we need those outposts…and those patrols…and probably even the secret operations," he replied. "The Federation knows it cannot live complacently with its head in the sand any longer. There are threats out there we have no knowledge of. If our encounters with the Borg and the Founders have taught us anything, it is that we cannot take our status-quo for granted. We must be on guard and prepared." He was thoughtful for a moment. "But you're right. Being at war does create a certain rhythm—it generates an elevated pulse rate among the fleet, if you will. Rather like a rush of adrenaline. It is difficult to set that aside and move back to more routine tasks. Compared to battle, mapping a nebula is fairly mundane."

"Adrenaline can become addictive," Beverly warned.

"True," Jean Luc conceded. "And the danger is that an organization…a society… can become dependent upon that heightened level of adrenaline. It may be a while before the Federation can regain its balance and back-off of its military mind-set."

"As long as they don't go spoiling for a fight. Frankly, some of the talk has made me nervous, Jean Luc. If the Federation were to take an aggressive posture, say with Cardassia…."

"That isn't likely to happen," Jean Luc replied. "Frankly, our resources are stretched too thin, as it is. We don't even have enough seasoned senior officers to man the ships as they come off the line, let alone plan any sort of offensive. Even against a weakened Cardassia."

Beverly understood. The Dominion War had cost the Federation scores of seasoned captains. Many who did manage to survive had retired, too used up and disillusioned by their losses to find any joy among the stars again.

"Not only that," he continued. "But the Federation needs to tend to its own needs first. Many member worlds remain skittish about the Federation's ability to defend them in the wake of another attack. The Genesis Wave didn't help us either. In the past year we've lost as many Federation members as we've gained. It's affected the morale of the remaining members—and unfortunately raised suspicions as to where the loyalty of some of them lay."

To Beverly, Jean Luc's words had an ominous tone.

"You mean…treason?" she asked, hardly believing it. Jean Luc gave her a sideways glance.

"That might be a bit harsh," he amended. "Let's just say that there are a growing number of fence-sitters out there who'd prefer to go it alone or possibly make other alliances if another threat were to appear in the near future."

Beverly chewed on this. The thought of losing more members of the Federation to say the Ferengi or the Tholian alliances was disheartening.

"Which is one of the reasons Starfleet has been channeling more resources into information gathering than its scientific pursuits," Jean Luc continued. "The _Enterprise_ spent nearly four months in the Deneb system mapping and exploring it. We were the first Federation ship ever in that region of space. Now there's a Federation outpost there—and who knows what else."

"Special Ops," said Beverly, reading between his words. He nodded.

"More and more," he said. "Intelligence is the real work of Starfleet these days. The kind that's out in the open…and the kind that's more…clandestine."

"So much for inherently trusting one another," remarked Beverly with a sigh.

"Unfortunately, espionage has been a long-accepted methodology for information gathering, both among allies and enemies alike. But you're right…it does smack of an innate distrust of one another. Still, information is the most valuable tool we have in preventing another invasion."

"I suppose you're right," Beverly conceded. "It just seems a shame that we can't enjoy peace when we have it."

"Now that I can agree with," Jean Luc replied. "And you are correct that many Starfleet captains do feel a bit of a let down going back to their more primary missions of exploration. I admit to a little of it myself."

"I always suspected that you were a warrior at heart," she chided him. "Are you sure there isn't some Klingon blood back in the Picard line?"

"Oh…didn't I mention that they will be serving _gagk_ at the reception?" he shot back. Beverly smiled indulgently.

"Sounds delightful," she replied. "I'll enjoy some while we climb that mountain."

Beverly pulled a knee up under her chin and contemplated the streaking starscape once again. It had been months since she'd been in space and the sight was soothing. She thought of the apartment she'd left behind and something Jean Luc had said to her came to her mind. He was right. She no more belonged planet-side than he did. Space was her home after all.

Thinking of space made Beverly nostalgic for the days aboard the _Enterprise__-D_, before Veridian III had claimed the ship. The _Enterprise__-E_ had proven to be a worthy replacement—technologically advanced, stream-lined, fast and powerful. Even when the Borg had nearly chewed it up, it had withstood the damage well and was refitted quickly. But the _Enterprise__-E_ had lacked something. Maybe it was the absence of the families. With the threat of the Borg, and then the Dominion, families had been evacuated from the galaxy and sovereign class starships. They had become ships of war, no longer space-faring communities. While she understood and even agreed with the decision to ground civilians, and most certainly children, it seemed to Beverly that it had somehow diminished what Starfleet and the Federation were about. Slowly, and seemingly reluctantly, Starfleet was allowing families back aboard, but she doubted the numbers would ever match what they had in the pre-Borg, pre-Dominion days, and it saddened her.

She caught Jean Luc watching her and smiled, somewhat embarrassed to be caught in her reverie.

"Looking forward to getting your old job back?" Jean Luc broke into her thoughts.

"I was just thinking that somehow it doesn't seem like it will be the same, what with so much having changed," she confessed.

"The _Enterprise_ is still the _Enterprise_…but yet, I admit, something about it is different. I hope you won't be disappointed."

Beverly eyed him mischievously.

"Is this where I'm supposed to say that it doesn't matter where we are as long as we're together?"

"Actually, this is the point where I set the yacht on autopilot and take you into my quarters to show you the artifacts I discovered on Aloris IV," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Really, Jean Luc," Beverly scolded him. "I thought you were more subtle than that."

"I tried subtle with you for over thirty years, Beverly. I've finally come to the conclusion that the direct approach is the best avenue to take."

"It only took you all those years to figure that out? Jean Luc…I'm impressed."

Jean Luc crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

"Hmm. I'm beginning to regret my proposal already and we've barely left the Terran system. Will you be this difficult when you're back as my CMO?"

Beverly shook her head.

"You will find me as professional as ever, Captain. But when we're alone in our quarters…all bets are off."

Jean Luc let out a long sigh.

"That's what I was afraid of."

Jean Luc stared at the star lines through the forward view screen and reflected that there were few times in his life where he had felt so totally and completely at peace. He had left Beverly sleeping and had come to the dimly lit bridge to sip a cup of tea and check the instrument readings, which indicated that they still had another eight hours before they arrived at the _Titan's_ coordinates. Part of him regretted that their trip would be over so soon. As good a friends as they had become over the years, the past two and a half days of constant companionship had brought them even closer than when they'd had the psiwave transmitters implanted in them on KessPrytt. Of course the physical intimacy had added a whole other dimension to their relationship, so much so that as Jean Luc had held the sleeping Beverly in his arms, her auburn hair spilling across his shoulder, he had scarcely been able to believe the moment to be real. He half expected to see Q leering at him from across the cabin, snapping his fingers and making it all vanish. But it hadn't. He only wished he had learned enough from Anij to make this time stand still, and keep the rest of the galaxy at bay, if only for a while longer.

But the chronometer continued to scroll by and the warp field pushed ahead of them, bringing them closer to the _Titan_.

That of course had its advantages as well, Jean Luc had to admit. Old friends. Family. And his wedding. His wedding which would make his relationship with this woman permanent—or at least as permanent as anything in the universe could be. He thought back to his proposal to Beverly; how she'd hesitated, bringing up Q's glimpse into the future. Many times in the years that had passed since that time-bending event he had worried how much of that future scenario might be true. But time had brought changes that were not reflected in that future, and he refused to believe that anything he saw there…from Will's disenchantment to his own Irumodic Syndrome…would ever happen. And certainly, considering how he felt at the moment, the thought that he and Beverly would ever willingly go their separate ways after it had taken them so long to overcome the barriers that had existed between them…well, he couldn't even rationally consider it. No. Their marriage would work. He would make sure of it. And if she wanted to roam around the galaxy in her own medical ship some day, well, he'd spend his time reading archeological journals and writing his memoirs, while he bounced Wesley's children on his knee. It had taken him years, and another man's lifetime, to appreciate just how fulfilling that in itself could be.

A pair of willowy arms draped around him from behind. He'd been so lost in his reverie he hadn't even heard Beverly.

"Everything ship-shape and Bristol fashion?" she asked quietly. He nodded, smiling at the old nautical phrase.

"Aye," he replied, grasping her embrace as if it were a life preserver. "Tis a fair wind that blows us home."

"Then let the wind blow and the computer navigate," she suggested quietly, pressing her cheek against his. "We only have a few hours left alone; let's not waste them."

The warmth of her touch and the sparkle of the dimmed lights in her eyes thrilled him to his toes.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jean Luc replied huskily.

A few moments later, the bridge was empty.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The back room of _The Happy Prophet_ was not a pleasant place to wait. At least that was what the Princess had decided after she had spent the better part of an hour in its murky and over-crowded confinement. Ill at ease over what was transpiring outside of her immediate control, she had paced for a while, trying to burn off the nervous energy that she felt tensing within her. Every time she turned around, however, she bumped into some stack of crates filled with synthehol or Dubrian brandy or some other purloined alcoholic beverage that Drang had procured for his establishment.

_His_ establishment, she thought, allowing a wry smile to creep across her face. At least Drang liked to think it was his, and he certainly acted as though it were. Which was as she had planned it. It never hurt to have hidden assets, which was what _The Happy Prophet_ was. Her own establishment, two levels up, was well known by all the Bazaar inhabitants—in some instances too well known. Being able to utilize Drang's bar when she needed to—like now—had definite advantages, as did her association with the Ferengi himself.

When she met him, Drang had been as pathetic a Ferengi as she'd ever known. His ability to turn a profit was non-existent and he had been on the verge of having his business license revoked by the Ferengi Commerce Authority—for the third time. If he had anything going for him, the Princess had decided, it was his tenacity. She liked that he had scrabbled back twice from virtual excommunication from the Ferengi Alliance to be worthy of having a business license reissued. His refusal to give up, even against the harshest of odds, reminded her of herself somewhat.

She'd recruited him as her informant, and then as her assistant. Finally she'd set him up with _The Happy Prophet _and used him as a secondary source of business and information. There were times, she was sure, that Drang probably even fancied himself her business partner; it was then that she had to knock him down a peg or two and remind him of his proper place. She liked the fellow too much to drag him completely into her world. He would be happier, and safer, doing just as he had been for these past eight years.

It was Drang, actually, who had given her her name. She'd tried one alias after another without anything really feeling right. She had been herself for too long to become someone else. In some ways that had been the most difficult part of her job. But Drang had pinpointed her character right away. The first time he had called her "Ice Princess" she'd bristled at him. But the more she thought about it, the more the name had fit. It was exactly the persona she was trying to maintain, and it told her would-be customers that there was no room here for anything but business. She was still young enough and attractive enough for a few idiots to think they could try to romance her out of her wares. With her Ice Princess title, however, they knew up-front there was no point in even trying. So she played it to the hilt and the name stuck. Now it was her signature: The Ice Princess, ruler of the Badlands.

Well, not quite, she thought with a smirk. The Badlands were filled with plenty of competition—lots of places for people to take their business, if they were desperate enough. Still, her name was growing. People came looking for her, asking for her. It had turned out far better than she ever could have imagined, even if she did have to live in the middle of the biggest, worst cosmic storm in the quadrant.

Then again, there were days like today. Days where she found herself hiding out in her assistant's back room, waiting for him to close the deal. It made her nervous. Not only might Drang somehow muck things up—he was good, but not infallible—but her absence might raise too many suspicions. The Romulan would wonder where she was. Her Betazoid partners would ask questions. If only Drang could keep his cool, all would be fine. Betazoids couldn't read Ferengi's minds—which was why Drang was there and not her. Unfortunately, that knowledge would not be enough to keep Drang from being nervous, and Romulans were drawn to raw nerves like Terran sharks were to blood. If the Romulan Commander had any sense that there was something amiss, the deal would crumble into dust. Everything she'd been working to pull together for the past three months would fall apart. If Drang didn't succeed, the results would be—catastrophic.

There was a noise at the door and the Princess stopped her pacing and receded into the shadows. None of Drang's workers knew she was in here and she intended to keep it that way.

"Yes, yes!" said the voice with feigned affability. "Let me just check the store room—I'm sure there's more back here!" The door clicked shut and she heard the now frantic voice whisper "_Princess_?"

She stepped out of the darkness.

"What's wrong, Drang?" She tried to keep the panic from her voice. By his tone and demeanor, things did not bode well.

Spotting her, the Ferengi hurried over. He was sweating profusely—not a good sign, she knew—and he was twisting his hands together until she thought he would pull them off.

"They've been asking for your!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice low. "They can't understand why you're not there."

"Did you give them our explanation?"

Drang nodded.

"Yes, yes! I told them a new shipment had arrived unexpectedly and that you were required to inspect the goods before you would pay for them. I think…I think they were offended."

The Princess waved her hand. Hurt feelings she could live with.

"I don't care if they think I called them a _p'nung. _ My only concern is that they don't back out now. Would it help if I commed you and told you I was delayed even further?"

Drang nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, yes!" he told her. "As long as they don't think you've stood them up, I think things will go more smoothly." He turned and headed back toward the door.

"Drang!" she whispered after him. He stopped and turned. "What did you come in here for?"

He looked perplexed for a moment and then held up a finger as he remembered. Going to one of the crates he took out a bottle of Romulan ale and headed again toward the door.

The Princess checked her chrono. She figured she would give them about five minutes before she contacted Drang to inform him of her supposed delay. She hoped it would put their concerns to rest.

Her own concerns, however, were a completely other matter. From the moment she had been aware of the Romulan's interest in her, the Princess had had a feeling of impending doom. In her business, she knew, it was almost just a matter of time before a deal went bad and someone got hurt. She'd been doing this now for nearly ten years and she had seen it happen to others in her situation. But, then, that was the inherent risk. She'd known it and she had accepted it. Damn, she realized. She even thrived on it. But this time it had become personal. She had allowed her own emotions to surface as she plotted and schemed with her Romulan niece, who took every opportunity to remind her of the retribution they were both owed.

Which was why, she knew, the ominous feeling remained teetering over her. With every other job she had been able to remain aloof and dispassionate. It was, after all, just a job. But this time there were names and faces that she knew, along with memories that she thought she had dealt with years ago. She feared, somehow, it might have an impact on her judgment and her ability to keep the bigger picture in mind.

The Princess checked her chrono. The allotted time had passed and she pulled out her communicator and called Drang. Explaining her supposed delay she apologized profusely and reiterated her complete trust in his ability to work out the final details of the plan with their guests. She kept the communication as brief as possible, knowing that Betazoids could sometimes sense emotions and thoughts even through a voice transmission.

She had done all she could for now. Drang had sounded a lot calmer, she noted, when he had answered her call. Perhaps he would be able to pull it together after all. If he did, she figured she owed him a bonus. Maybe she'd make him partners in _The Happy Prophet_ in gratitude. That should boost his worth on Ferengar, she thought with a smile. And it would endear her to him all the more. She wasn't oblivious to the fact that the Ferengi had a crush on her. It was what made him go that extra step whenever she asked him to. Yes—she would make him her partner in the bar. That way, when she returned—if she returned—he'd be in her debt forever.

On second thought, she decided, as she contemplated what her niece had in store, maybe she'd just leave it to him in her will.

The hiss of the pneumatic door and the gentle clank of the ramp settling into position in the shuttle bay of the _Titan_ were the first sounds that greeted Jean Luc as he and Beverly made their way through the short passage that brought them from the yacht's bridge to the exit hatch. Awaiting them at the bottom of the ramp was Will Riker, his hair slightly more gray then when Jean Luc had last seen him. Holding on to Riker's arm for obvious support was a very pregnant Deanna. Picard exchanged a quick glance with Beverly, who whispered to him "It's the Betazoid physiology. They take on fifty percent more weight than most humans do during pregnancy. It's a key element in developing the telepathic areas of the brain." Moments later he was grasping Will by the arm while Beverly and Deanna exchanged hugs. He kissed Deanna on the cheek as Will did the same with Beverly and then they all stepped back to appreciate each other.

As usual, Will Riker was not lost for words.

"Well I guess this proves I didn't dream our conversation, Captain. Deanna had me convinced it was an hallucination brought on by over-exposure to chocolate for the past nine months."

Deanna slugged his arm, which caused him to grin even wider.

"How are you feeling," Jean Luc heard Beverly ask as they made their way out of the shuttle bay and down a corridor toward a turbo lift.

"Exhausted," admitted Deanna, with a sigh. "I always thought my mother exaggerated when it came to her pregnancies, but now I know better. I think I'll apologize to her next time I see her."

The turbo lift door opened and a lieutenant commander bolted from it, nearly running into them. He pulled up suddenly, realizing who was standing there.

"Mom!" he exclaimed, rushing over to Beverly who now had to reach up to hug her son. Jean Luc didn't need to be telepathic to feel the joy that radiated from Beverly in Wesley's presence. The boy—Jean Luc realized he couldn't call him that any longer, despite his perpetually youthful appearance—beamed with happiness himself. It had been nearly two years since mother and son had seen one another. Certainly not as long an absence as when Wesley had left to become a Traveler, but long enough, he knew, for Beverly to feel the pain of his absence. Not for the first time Jean Luc was struck by how much he resembled his father. A twinge of discomfort tugged at him with this thought. He cared for Wesley great deal, but there was no denying that he would always be Jack's son.

As Wesley's eyes met his, Jean Luc saw his Starfleet training kick in. As close as they had been over the years, Wesley still stepped back and stood at attention, his face emptying of obvious emotion.

"Captain, Sir!" he exclaimed. Jean Luc could not keep the smile from his face.

"At ease, Commander," he replied and stuck out his hand. Wesley relaxed and grasped it heartily, a grin returning to his face.

"It's good to see you, sir," Wesley said. "And congratulations. You too, Mom."

Beverly glanced at Jean Luc and smothered a smile. As much as he had witnessed in his young life, as much as he had endured, there was still a wonderful air of awkward naiveté about Wesley that was refreshing. Jean Luc patted him on the back.

"Thank you, Wesley," he replied. "You mother and I were hoping we would have your blessing."

"You always have had, sir," Wesley replied as they all entered the turbo lift. There was something in his smile that seemed knowing beyond the young man's years. It reminded Jean Luc that there was so much more to Wesley than met the eye.

"Oh, by the way, Captain," Wesley added, turning to Will. "Commander Effrata asked me to inform you that the ship you're expecting to off-load that cargo to will be arriving on schedule."

"Excellent, Mr. Crusher," Will answered. He and Deanna seemed to share a glance.

"We thought you'd like to freshen up first," Deanna told them. "Then we'll have some dinner together and get caught up."

The turbo lift door opened and they exited. Jean Luc walked more slowly, letting Beverly and Deanna get ahead of them.

"I assume you got my message, Will," he asked in low tones. His former first officer nodded.

"Don't worry, Sir. I've arranged everything."

Jean Luc turned to Wesley.

"I have a favor to ask of you as well, Wesley." Jean Luc stopped, placing a hand on Wesley's arm. Will seemed to sense their need for privacy and hurried ahead to catch up to Deanna and Beverly.

"Anything, sir," Wesley replied, his brown eyes earnest.

"I am in need of a best man for the wedding, and I was wondering—hoping, actually—that you would take on that responsibility."

Wesley studied the captain for a moment, and Jean Luc couldn't help but reflect once more on the depth there was to this man who would soon become his step-son. No. There was nothing naïve about Wesley at all, despite appearances.

"I would like nothing better, Sir, than to be your best man. It would be an honor." Wesley replied solemnly.

"Excellent," said Jean Luc. "Excellent." He still hesitated, however. There was more he wanted to say to Wesley, but he wasn't sure this was either the time or the place.

"It's all right, you know, Captain," Wesley said suddenly. Jean Luc looked at him, startled. He had been lost in thought.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, it's all right. You marrying my mother. I know you and my mom have cared about each other for a long time. I also know that both of you somehow had to get beyond the memory of my dad. I don't know if this means anything or not, but I just wanted to tell you that I know he would approve. He loved you both a lot and he would have wanted you to be happy. I thought you needed to know that."

Jean Luc felt his throat tighten. Hearing these words from a man who so resembled his friend vanished what few remaining doubts he'd had about the step he and Beverly were about to take. Wesley had understood. It wasn't really his blessing Jean Luc had been seeking; it had been Jack's.

"Thank you," he said in a choked voice. Wesley nodded knowingly and the two of them began walking to catch up with the others. When they reached them, Wesley offered his mother his arm, which, after a surprised look, she accepted. Despite her protestations, Jean Luc was glad they had decided to spend what remaining time they had on the _Titan_. There was no telling when Beverly would get to see Wesley again, and Jean Luc knew that, though she mentioned it infrequently, her separation from her son was one of her greatest burdens. He would have years aboard the _Enterprise_ with Beverly; he was happy to give her her son for these few brief days.

They parted at their cabin doors.

"Dinner in our quarters at twenty-hundred hours," Will told them. "You too, Mr. Crusher."

Wesley looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Sir—Mom, Captain Picard. But I'm afraid I'm on duty then. Maybe we can catch up later, if you're not too tired." He kissed his mother on the cheek and shook Jean Luc's hand before striding down the corridor and vanishing down one of the side passageways.

"I don't think he's my little boy any more," said Beverly, half wistfully, half proudly.

"He'll make full Commander before he's forty, the way he's going. Heck, maybe even before he's thirty-five," Will told her. "I can't tell you how much he does in engineering. I just have to be careful Starfleet Command doesn't get wind of him. I'll lose him to the Academy or to the Engineering Corp if they ever figure out all he knows."

Jean Luc could empathize with Will's concern. He himself had fought hard to keep his senior officers together. Sometimes it had been a real battle with Starfleet Command. But he'd won it for nearly sixteen years. Will knew good people, and in time, the _Titan_ crew would be among the best. Jean Luc hoped in time he could say the same about the _Enterprise_ crew again. He was more hopeful now than he'd been a week ago.

As the door closed behind him and he looked around the spacious and inoffensively decorated cabin, Jean Luc couldn't help but feel odd. He suddenly missed the _Enterprise_. Missed knowing what was going on and where. Missed being in command. Yes, he decided, he'd been away long enough. When the _Titan_ rendezvoused with the _Enterprise_ in ten days time he would be ready to captain her again. Beverly would be back as CMO. He'd figure out if Mr. Madden was worth the investment of his time and effort and if not, he would find a first officer worthy of the chance to serve on board the _Enterprise_. As for replacing his ship's counselor…well, it was always good to have a goal of some kind. Perhaps in six months or so he'd approach Janeway again and see what she could do. In nine months, he told himself, he'd have the _Enterprise_ humming again, a well-oiled senior staff who he knew and liked, and who understood why they should never, ever throw him a surprise birthday party.

"Did you get my message?" Beverly asked Deanna, who had stayed behind in her cabin as they others went their separate ways until dinner.

"Yes, I did," she replied, easing herself into one of the chairs. She barely fit, Beverly noticed, and had to turn slightly sidewise to wedge herself in. Starfleet issue cabin chairs were not designed for pregnant Betazoids. A crease of pain crossed her face. Instinctively Beverly reached for her tricorder.

"Are you all right?" she asked, squatting on her heels and running a sensor sweep over Deanna's generous girth.

"Yes…" she said hesitantly. "Just some Braxton-Hicks. They've been coming more frequently the past few days. Between that and the baby turning somersaults…I don't think I've slept more than twenty minutes at a time in the past two weeks."

Beverly smiled sympathetically.

"I remember those days. Wesley decided to rest on my sciatic nerve. I could barely walk."

"You survived," Deanna said hopefully.

"Trust me…" Beverly told her, standing and putting the tricorder away. "The day will come when this will seem like the easy part."

Deanna blanched.

"Thanks for the encouragement," she sighed. "Don't worry about tomorrow. I told Will and he's arranged everything. I think you and the Captain will be very pleased."

Beverly sank down in an adjacent chair and looked wistfully at Deanna.

"What?" the Betazoid asked, expectantly.

"Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I always figured I would be the one to deliver yours and Will's child."

Deanna tried to shift positions but was unsuccessful.

"I wish you were here to do it," she admitted, ruefully. "Don't get me wrong, Dr. T'nor is a more than competent physician. In fact he's brilliant. But being both a male and a Vulcan, he lacks, shall we say, a certain empathy to my condition."

Beverly smiled broadly, causing Deanna to scowl at her.

"It's not funny, Beverly! If you were in my place…" Deanna stopped. She'd sensed a strong emotional response from Beverly at her words.

"Beverly…you're not…?"

Beverly looked at her in surprise. 

"What? Me? No! I mean…" she trailed off. "But…it's not an impossibility."

Deanna regarded her.

"Beverly, I had no idea…."

Beverly looked at her sheepishly.

"You recall the effect the B'aku planet had on us," she said. Deanna smiled and nodded. It was the B'aku planet that had reignited the relationship between her and Will.

"But I thought the fountain-of-youth effects of the planet wore off over time," she replied.

Beverly nodded.

"Most did. Geordi had to return to his implants. Worf's puberty-redux subsided, thank goodness. Much of the superficial effects, like muscle tone and skin elasticity, vanished fairly quickly."

"But not all?" Deanna asked.

"Not all," Beverly told her. "I've done some follow-up research on _Enterprise_ crew members who were exposed to the planet during and immediately after the crisis there as well as on subsequent Starfleet personnel who have been on assignment there over the past five years. There is a thirty-seven percent increase in fertility for females under the age of forty and a nearly seventy percent increase in fertility for females between forty and sixty, with the greater portion of that being for women between fifty and sixty."

"And that includes you," Deanna concluded. Beverly sighed.

"That includes me."

She looked at her friend carefully.

"I sense you have mixed emotions about this. What does the captain think?"

Beverly stood and walked over to the bulkhead, gazing at the stars that twinkled endlessly across the vast expanse.

"I haven't told him about this yet," she finally admitted. "I've always had the sense that, for much of his life, children were little more than a nuisance to him. Remember when Wes and I came on board the _Enterprise__-D_?"

Deanna smiled at the memory.

"I believe he called him an 'impertinent child'" she said. Beverly laughed lightly, then sobered.

"Jean Luc was never comfortable around children, even when he was younger. Some people just aren't, you know."

"I don't believe he feels that way anymore," Deanna offered. "I've sensed the inner-workings of the man for years, Beverly. Many aspects of him have changed with time."

Beverly continued to stare out the window.

"It's just that I don't know what I'm more afraid of…him wanting a child or him not wanting a child." She turned toward Deanna. Her friend struggled to her feet and came to her, placing an arm around Beverly's shoulders.

"Perhaps it's not what the captain wants that frightens you, but what you want," she offered quietly. The look of realization that flashed in Beverly's eyes told her she'd hit the mark.

"I'm not sure I want to go through it all again, Deanna, at my age…and at the same time, I'm terrified to let the opportunity pass. "

"Well, my mother had Barin when she was older than you. He's gone to live with his father now, but I know she took great delight at having one more chance at motherhood."

"I don't know, Deanna. It's just so damn complicated!"

Deanna patted her arm.

"No. It's not complicated. Not really. But I do think it's something that you and Jean Luc need to talk about. Once you do, you may find the decision becomes quite clear."

Beverly looked at her gratefully. Deanna's guidance had served her well over the years. Her Betazoid friend had helped her strip away many of her own self-delusions and get to the true heart of many of her personal matters. They had even talked about Jack and her not-quite relationship with Jean Luc from time to time, and it had been those conversations that Beverly had reflected upon during her self-imposed exile at Starfleet Medical. In many ways, Beverly reflected, Deanna was the one who had helped her to understand that she could indeed love Jean Luc without betraying Jack's memory.

"I've missed you, you know," Beverly told her. Deanna smiled serenely, but her words were swept away by a quick intake of breath. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

"You know," Deanna said finally. "I think I'd better go lay down, or you may get to deliver this baby after all."

When she'd left Beverly let herself sink into one of the chairs. She felt suddenly very tired and very alone. As much as she hoped the ceremony the next day would be beautiful and memorable, at the moment she just wanted to get beyond it—back to the _Enterprise_, to pick up the pieces of her old life and use them to create a new one. Will and Deanna had moved on. This was their life now. They'd put the _Enterprise_ behind them. She'd tried that, but when all was said and done, the _Enterprise_ was home. Jean Luc was home. And she now, desperately, wanted to go home.

Dinner that evening was delicious, but Beverly found she did not have much of an appetite. She noticed Jean Luc shifting the food around on his plate as well and when their eyes met she could sense his own unrest. As wonderful as it was to be reunited with Will and Deanna, Beverly was relieved that Will's schedule and Deanna's fatigue necessitated an early evening. Walking back to their quarters, Jean Luc seemed lost in thought. His silence concerned her. Finally, she could stand it no longer.

"It feels very strange to be here," she said quietly. Jean Luc looked at her sharply.

"I was thinking the same thing," he replied. "It's very difficult being the guest aboard a starship…especially when you're used to holding the reins. I find myself missing the _Enterprise_ very much."

Beverly let out a sigh of relief.

"What?" Jean Luc asked her. She took his arm as they stepped into a turbo lift.

"For a moment I thought perhaps you were getting cold feet about tomorrow," she admitted.

"Computer, hold" he instructed, and the turbo lift halted in mid-run. Jean Luc turned to her.

"Beverly, tomorrow I am about to embark with you on one of the greatest adventures I've ever taken. I'd be lying if I told you I expect fair sailing the entire way. Lord knows you and I have locked horns plenty of times in all the years we've known each other. I don't expect our future to be much different. But as far as I'm concerned, all that matters is that it's _our_ future—yours and mine, together. I don't want a future that doesn't include you, and the only thing I fear is a future with you not in it."

She kissed him. She kissed him for a long time.

"Resume," murmured Jean Luc, when he could breathe again; the turbo lift hummed into action. Moments later it deposited them on the deck just outside their rooms. As she stepped into her quarters, Beverly paused and turned.

"Well," she replied finally. "Then I guess I'd better show up tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Deanna, I still don't understand why we have to transport to the holodeck?" Beverly asked.

"Oh come on—do you really want to walk all the way there dressed like this?"

Beverly considered this. Their presence on the _Titan_ was to be low key. Wandering through the corridors in her silk green dress at this time of day would certainly draw attention. Perhaps Deanna was right. Deanna's own dress was teal, necessitated by the fact that she could find no dress uniform to fit. Her comm badge, however, was adroitly affixed to one side and she tapped it, eliciting a responsive chirp.

"Troi to transporter room one. We're ready for site to site transfer."

"Acknowledged," came an efficient voice and within moments Beverly felt a familiar tingle as her molecules began to shift into energy and then back again.

She found herself standing on a cobblestone walk with hedges rising on either side as the path turned a corner and disappeared. Turning, she took in a view of rolling hills, where row upon row of vines appeared neatly tied and tended, as far as the eye could see. All of this appeared in the dimness of twilight, under a sky in which rose twin moons of such size and closeness that Beverly gasped when she saw them.

"It's Arvada III," she murmured, looking at Deanna for confirmation and explanation. Deanna beamed.

"Well, they say great minds think alike. When you were telling me you'd like us to replicate the captain's home in France, he was telling Will he wanted to recreate the skyscape of Arvada III for you. We took the liberty of combining the two—hopefully making everyone happy."

The familiar transporter chime sounded and suddenly Will, Jean Luc and Wesley were standing beside them. Will was grinning ear to ear as Jean Luc took in where they were.

"My home…" Jean Luc began.

"…and my sky," Beverly finished for him. Somehow, it seemed right.

"Well done, Will. Well done!" Jean Luc beamed with delight. He was about to say something to Deanna, when he stopped in mid-sound. Ever the captain, he cocked his head listening and a perplexed look crossed his face.

"We're not on the _Titan_ anymore," he announced, looking at Will. If it were possible, the large man looked both pleased and guilty at the same time.

"What makes you say that, sir?" Will asked, trying to act coy.

"The engine vibrations are not the same." He listened some more. "If I didn't know better…" he began. Then a spark appeared in his eyes as he turned quickly to Will.

"We're on the _Enterprise_!" he pronounced sounding both delighted and confused.

Will nodded, a large grin spreading across his face.

"Good ears, Sir. Yes. She'd been station-keeping off our port bow since 2300 hours yesterday. That's why we gave you quarters on the starboard side. Don't get me wrong…the _Titan_ is a great ship and I would have been proud to marry you on her, but somehow it just didn't seem right, the two of you getting married anywhere but on the _Enterprise_."

"Will, how in the world did you…," Picard began, but was immediately interrupted.

"The answer to your question, Sir, is that he had some pull with her current acting Captain," supplied an evenly modulated voice from behind them. Beverly watched as Jean Luc's eyes widened. She could only turn in wonderment herself. It was a voice they both knew. A voice they believed had been stilled forever.

"Data?" whispered Jean Luc hoarsely, whirling around. From around the corner of the hedges stepped Commander Data, attired in his dress uniform, three shiny pips adorning the collar of his jacket. Flanking him were Geordi LaForge and Worf, also in their dress whites.

"Yes sir," replied the android. "And…no, sir," he added enigmatically.

"Technically, I am the B-4 prototype we discovered on Kolarus III, but as I have been programmed with all of Data's memory anagrams and as Geordi has used the schematics from Data's neural nets to activate my latent development programs, I am, in essence, Data."

Beverly and Jean Luc could only stare.

"But how…when…?" Jean Luc finally stammered.

Geordi stepped forward.

"Shortly after you left for sabbatical, Sir. The Starfleet Engineering Corp had done just about everything they could with the B-4 prototype. If you recall, I'd asked your permission to have him returned to the _Enterprise_ when they were done."

Jean Luc was still staring. Of course B-4 and Data had been identical in construction, at least in appearance. But intellectually, personality-wise, developmentally, B-4 had been nearly child-like. The transformation was…remarkable.

"I do recall that Mr. LaForge…but how?" he repeated.

Geordi's implants sparkled in the light of the twin moons. His excitement over his accomplishment evident.

"Well, you see, Captain. I'd been studying Data's schematics ever since…well, ever since we lost him. And as far as I could tell, there was absolutely no difference in the construction of his positronic matrix and B-4's. So I figured, somehow, there had to be some kind of…switch, or something, that would get it all to work in B-4 like it had worked in Data…only I didn't know what it was or how to turn it on."

"What Geordi is referring to, Sir, is a hidden activation sequence that Dr. Soong had programmed into each of his androids. Data was unaware of it's existence as, I suspect was Lore. B-4, likewise, did not know of it either," the new Data explained.

Picard shook his head slightly. There was something odd about hearing Data speak of himself in the third person.

"Yeah…that's right," continued Geordi. "So I went over all of Data's personal logs, and then I went through his Starfleet record. Finally I went back to the entries of the Starfleet personnel who discovered him on Omicron Theta, and that's when it hit me!"

Data picked up the story.

"Geordi realized that all of Data's personal memories began at the moment he was activated by the Starfleet Away Team. And yet, if you recall, Dr. Juliana Tainer, the android replica of Dr. Soong wife, recounted tales of Data's activity prior to the arrival of the Crystalline Entity."

"But Data had no memory of that time; only the memories of the colonists that were programmed into him. So I thought, what had happened? All I could think of was that he had been deactivated and then activated again. But that didn't make sense. We'd deactivated B-4 while he was on the _Enterprise_ and he was no different when we reactivated him again. There was something missing. Then I realized it!" Geordi snapped his fingers. "They'd wiped his memory! Since he didn't have any recollection of his life on Omicron Theta except for the colonists' logs, they'd have had to have wiped his memory before transferring in the colonists' data! It wasn't just a matter of a simple reboot—it was a purge, a transfer and then a reboot!" the engineer explained excitedly.

"Geordi then proceeded to test his hypothesis by downloading all of Data's memory anagrams into the ship's computer," Data explained.

"I did a complete wipe of his sub processor. There wasn't a nanobyte of memory that wasn't absolutely purged. Then I reloaded the file of Data's memories and activated him!" grinned Geordi. "It took a few minutes for everything to load, but, wow! When it did…B-4 had become Data, reincarnated."

"You see, Sir," Data elaborated. "B-4 was not a fully realized android. At one time both Data and Lore operated on a low-level of functionality as he did. It was Dr. Soong's way of testing the positronic matrix to see if it was capable of carrying out basic functions. Once this level of functionality had been ascertained, the proto-android was deactivated, it's memory wiped, and it was reinitialized using more sophisticated input data. This second activation started a matrix enhancement cascade which eventually switched on the higher learning and higher processing functions of the positronic brain. B-4 was simply in stand-by mode."

Jean Luc shook his head, trying to incorporate all the information Geordi and Data were throwing at him. This was not the discussion he'd been anticipating occurring at his wedding.

"And you remember…everything?" asked Beverly, incredulously.

"Yes, Doctor," Data replied, as if perplexed by the question. "Everything up to the point of the memory transfer. I have no recollection of anything that happened after that, until I woke up in Engineering, to discover that nearly two years had passed."

Now Riker interrupted.

"Starfleet subjected Data to an inordinate number of tests, after Geordi restored him. They were obviously satisfied he had the same skills and experiences as before, and they reactivated his commission."

"Actually, Sir, they promoted me. To full Commander, in recognition for my bravery against Shinzon, although I have no memory of those actions."

Picard put his hand on Data's shoulder.

"You may not, Mr. Data…but the rest of us most assuredly do. And if anyone were worthy of promotion, it is indeed you."

"Thank you, Sir. I will have to take your word for it," Data replied with a smile.

Riker continued.

"Admiral Janeway also reassigned him to the _Enterprise_ as First Officer. Mr. Madden and Dr. Kranston have both been assigned to other ships. She said to consider it her wedding gift."

Jean Luc was shaking his head in disbelief.

"This is…quite wonderful, you know." He looked at Beverly and saw that there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling, happy for him, he knew. "I can't wait to hear more—in a little while. But, if you don't mind…." He indicated the path that led, he knew to the chateau's garden. "I believe, right now, Beverly and I have a few words to exchange."

Will gave an understanding nod and tucked Deanna's arm in his.

"We will meet you up in the garden," he told Beverly and Jean Luc. The others followed the Rikers down the path and around the hedges, out of sight.

Beverly looked at Jean Luc and adjusted his white jacket, picking off a stray piece of lint.

"I'm not sure marrying me can surpass having Data brought back to life," she said, in a tone he knew to be only half-joking. He took her hands and brought her close to him.

"Nothing is going to overshadow what we are about to do," he assured her. "I am thrilled to have Data back, of course. But now, this is about you and I. No distractions."

Beverly studied his face.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" she finally asked, a slight waiver in her voice.

"Absolutely. Don't you?"

"I do," she replied, her voice sounding relieved.

"Just remember those words in a few minutes, all right?"

He kissed her lightly and then offered her his arm. Slowly they made their way down the path to where he knew his mother's garden awaited them, awash in the scent of roses and glistening with the twilight dew.

Jean Luc Picard and Beverly Howard Crusher were wed beneath a skyscape that Beverly had not seen in nearly fifty years. She remembered very little of Arvada III except for the sight of the twin moons hanging bright against a sky of cerulean blue. It was an image that brought her only feelings of love and safety. Her young mind had failed to capture the memory of her parents' deaths or the deprivation that followed in the long months before Starfleet had been able to evacuate the surviving colonists. Instead, Beverly had the memory of her grandmother and the bond they had developed during that time, and how, on nights when the fatigue of being healer to the desperate and dispirited refugees hadn't brought her to a fitful sleep, Felicia Howard would take her granddaughter to a craggy outcropping and they would watch the twin moons rise. Only when she was older, and safely relocated back on earth, did Beverly understand the tragedy of Arvada III and what it had cost her. Even with that knowledge, however, many of her most peaceful memories were of those moonrise vigils with her grandmother.

She remembered telling that to Jean Luc when her grandmother had died. He had seemed surprised that she should associate such comfort and contentment with a place that had claimed both her parents' lives, but as she had gone on to explain her relationship with her grandmother, he began to understand. Despite its tragedy, despite the many years she had spent on earth afterwards, Arvada III was her emotional sanctuary, the place her mind sought when she needed to be at peace.

So it seemed somehow fitting that Jean Luc's birthplace and hers should somehow be blended into some wonderful, unique place that could only exist on a holodeck; and on the _Enterprise_, no less. The presence of old friends…of family, made it complete. Wesley was right: there was a sort of cosmic balance to it all.

The reception following the ceremony was a simple meal at a round table which had been set up on the side garden patio. Discreet holographic waiters served champagne from _Chateau Picard _while nearby a string quartet played unobtrusively. At the appropriate moment, Wesley stood and the small pattering of chatter at the table instantly stilled. He cleared his throat and lifted his glass.

"It's not everyone who gets to be best man at the wedding of the former Surgeon General and Starfleet's most preeminent captain," he began. There was a small wave of laughter from around the table. "But while the rest of the universe may view them in that capacity, to me they are 'Mom' and a man who, for much of my life, has been a father to me in ways he hasn't begun to understand." He looked at Jean Luc and grinned. "Of course, I was really afraid of you when we first came on the _Enterprise_…and I don't think you were too crazy about me either, Sir." Jean Luc smiled and nodded. "But in time, I came to understand what a great captain…and what a great person you were. And I believe, after a while, you began to think I was a little less of a nuisance." More laughter.

"I guess what I'm saying, Captain," Wesley continued solemnly. "Is that if I could pick out anyone in the whole universe for my mom to be with, it would be you. And Mom, if there's anyone who I think Captain Picard could be content spending the rest of his life with, it's you." Tears glistened in Beverly's eyes.

"So, if everyone would please raise their glass." Glasses of champagne were lifted into the air at Wesley's request. "I offer you this toast: happiness as vast as the galaxy, peace as endless as space, and love as infinite as time. _Bon vivre_."

"_Bon vivre_!" repeated the guests as glasses rang against one another and they toasted the newlyweds. Beverly kissed Wesley on the cheek while Jean Luc patted him on the back.

"Well done, Wesley," Jean Luc told him as he resumed his seat. "It's not…."

But he never finished his sentence.

A huge jolt rocked the holodeck, knocking several people to the floor and toppling urns filled with flowers that had adorned the gardens. The shattering of glass and the crash of plates of food gave way to a few seconds of stunned silence. Then the red alert klaxon began. Data recovered first.

"Bridge, this is Commander Data. Status, Mr. Cho."

"An unidentified vessel decloaked off our port bow, sir. It started firing on the _Titan_ first and then on the _Enterprise_!"

"Shields up!" ordered Data standing and brushing off his dress uniform.

"Shields are up sir, and at 72 percent. Our warp engines are off-line. But the ship is doing something to the _Titan_…it's shield power is being drained away. Plus it took a direct hit to the engineering section," reported the voice from the bridge.

Riker immediately hit his comm badge.

"Riker to _Titan_, report!"

All he got in response was static.

"_Titan_, this is Captain Riker. Mr. Effrata, Report!" he repeated. Finally a garbled voice answered.

"This is the bridge, Sir!"

"What the hell is going on over there, Mr. Effrata?" Riker demanded.

"Um…this is Lieutenant Collins, Sir. Mr. Effrata was down in engineering when the ship decloaked. We took a big hit there, sir. We haven't been able to raise anyone in engineering at all. We've got a medical team on the way."

"Is the transporter operational?" Riker asked, his face taut.

"Aye, Sir," replied Collins. "But our shields are up. So are the _Enterprise_'s."

Riker turned to Picard.

"I've got to get to my ship. Can I borrow a shuttle?"

Picard nodded.

"Mr. Collins," Riker spoke to his crewman. "I'm going to be returning in a shuttle."

"Sir?" The lieutenant's disbelief was evident even amidst the static.

"When I clear the _Enterprise_'s shields, I want you to drop the shields on the _Titan_ and beam me over."

"Sir, you'll be a sitting duck!" came Collins' horrified voice.

"I understand, Lieutenant. Your speed will be of paramount importance. If I can get them to focus their attention on the shuttle, that will give you time to drop the shields and get me out of there."

The young officer's voice, already distorted by the poor communications, sounded even more wavering.

"Aye, Sir. I…I understand."

"I have the utmost confidence in you, Lieutenant. Don't disappoint me," Riker told him. "I'll signal you upon my departure. Riker out."

With little time to spare, Riker went to Deanna and took her in his arms. Words weren't necessary. They kissed as if they might never kiss again, keeping their silent fears to themselves.

As Will pulled away, Deanna clung to him for a moment more, whispering desperately, "Come back to us, _Imzadi_."

Will nodded, not trusting his voice. With a glance at Beverly, he managed:

"Take care of her."

"I will," Beverly assured him. "And Will…be careful."

With a curt nod he turned toward Picard.

"Let's go," he said. They started for the arch that had appeared in the middle of the garden.

"Beverly," said Jean Luc, turning to her. "There may be a lot of casualties."

Beverly was practically on his heels.

"I'll go to sickbay. We'll set up a triage unit in Cargo Bay 8. You can send everyone there until we know what we're up against."

Jean Luc paused for a moment, meeting Beverly's eyes. This was too new to do in front of the others. They both seemed to understand.

"Go on, Captain," she urged him, quietly. "You're needed on the bridge."

Jean Luc gave a single nod and grimly stepped off the holodeck.

Flanked by Data and Riker, with Worf, Wesley and LaForge close behind, Jean Luc Picard strode down the corridor of his ship. Despite the fact that an unknown danger had appeared to threaten his ship and Riker's, he felt an energy he hadn't known in months.

"Computer, record that as of this date and time, Captain Jean Luc Picard has resumed command of the _U.S.S._ _Enterprise,_ voice authorization Picard, lambda alpha seven."

"So noted," replied the computer's carefully modulated voice.

"All hands, this is the Captain. Battle stations."

Beverly guided a reluctant Deanna into the room that had once been and now would again be her office and made her sit in the chair. Deanna had protested only slightly when Beverly had ordered to her sickbay, but had been quite obstinate about being put into a maternity room, insisting she was fine.

"I want you to stay here, do you understand? That's an order," Beverly told her. Pale, Deanna looked up at her and tried to smile.

"Have you always been this bossy?" she asked, with just a little edge in her voice.

"Listen…" Beverly replied, in like manner. "I'd be delighted to deliver your baby…just not today. And Will would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. So do us both a favor and just stay put. And if you can turn off your empathic sense, it would probably be a good thing too," Beverly added, going to the replicator and requesting a lab coat. She slipped it over her sage green dress and started for the main clinic.

"I'll be back to check on you. So don't go anywhere," she warned as she picked up a tricorder and checked it's charge.

Deanna nodded, mutely. Beverly gave her one more concerned look and then left. She hoped Will would take care of himself over on the _Titan_. She wasn't sure she was up to the task of counseling the counselor if anything were to happen to him.

Jean Luc had warned her that Kranston had made some changes to sickbay. Still, she wasn't prepared to discover that she was completely disoriented when she walked through the main doors. Nothing was where she remembered it should be, and she stood there a moment, confused.

Well, she thought, first things first.

"Computer," she announced. "Log into the record that as of this date and time Doctor Beverly Crusher reports as Chief Medical Officer and takes command of sickbay."

The computer confirmed her command.

"Dr. Crusher?" A surprised voice from behind her caused her to turn. Alyssa Ogawa—now Dr. Agawa—stood, mouth agape. "I can't believe it! They said we were getting a new CMO—I would never have guessed it was you!"

Beverly hugged her former nurse and friend. Alyssa had transferred off the _Enterprise_ at the start of the Dominion War to be with her husband and child. She had returned with her family when hostilities had ended, but after the Genesis crisis she had decided to try medical school. Beverly had approved her transfer back to the _Enterprise_ eight months ago as a resident.

"Things aren't exactly as I left them," Beverly sighed, looking around. Alyssa shrugged.

"Dr. Kranston had his own way of doing things…they made sense…at least to him."

By then, several other staff had entered the main sickbay. Several Beverly knew, but many she did not. She briefly introduced herself and when she announced she was assuming the position of CMO again there was applause, not only from those who knew her but from the other staff as well. It seemed, Beverly thought, that Jean Luc's dislike of Kranston was not singular.

"We'll have time for more thorough introductions later. Right now we need to set up a triage center in Cargo Bay 8. We may be receiving casualties from the _Titan _and possibly from the _Enterprise_ as well. We'll start there and hopefully downsize, if things aren't as bad as we think. I need Med-teams 1 and 2 to proceed directly to the cargo bay and begin setting up…." She stopped. Now they were looking confused.

"Dr. Kranston reorganized the staffing and designated the rotations by color and function," Alyssa explained.

"But standard protocol…oh, never mind," said Beverly in exasperation. "Alyssa, you seem to know what I mean…let's just get the cargo bay set up and be ready. I want enough staff on-hand both here and in Cargo Bay 8 in case we have serious injuries requiring surgery."

Alyssa nodded and began issuing directives. Soon everyone was moving in an apparently efficient manner. Beverly realized that she was going to have some work to do to get the sickbay back to her specification.

She was looking forward to it.

Grabbing a level-one med-kit, Beverly headed for Cargo Bay 8, but she stopped long enough to check on Deanna.

"Are you all right?" she asked, sticking her head in the door. Deanna looked up at her, her face wan and drawn against her dark hair. She merely nodded.

"I'll be in triage if you need me." Beverly hesitated, not sure how to offer comfort. "I'm sure Will will get things under control in no time" she said finally, but as she left sickbay to possibly treat scores of wounded, she thought that her words sounded hollow in her ears.

When Jean Luc Picard strode onto the bridge of the _Enterprise_, he knew he was home. Some of the crew on this shift he recognized, several he did not. It struck him how long he had been away, not just physically but in spirit as well. He slid into the sleek center chair and experienced the same thrill as when he'd sat in that position for the first time. He allowed himself a few seconds to appreciate the moment before asking Worf for an update.

"Shields holding at 65 percent, Sir."

"Damage?"

"Warp engines are off-line. Phasers and quantum torpedoes are operational."

"What is the condition of the _Titan_?"

Worf scanned his sensors.

"They've taken major damage to their engineering section. There are indications of a potential warp core leak. They have no weapons at the moment and their shields are at 20 percent and failing."

Picard tapped his chair arm impatiently.

"Can you identify the ship, Mr. Data?" he asked.

"No, Sir. It does not match anything in the Starfleet database."

"What about their cloaking device?"

Data studied the panels in front of him.

"We have limited information on it, Sir. But current indications are that it is Romulan in origin. It's signature is similar to the one used by the Reaman vessel the _Scimitar_."

A cold chill ran through Picard. Shinzon's ship had been absolutely undetectable when cloaked. Could it be that this was a new Romulan…or perhaps Reaman… offensive? Had all of Will's efforts with the Romulan task force been a mere diversion while they constructed a fleet of newly designed ships?

He shook his head. He needed more information before jumping to any conclusions. Cloaking technology, after all, was not singular to the Romulans. And with the current state of Romulus, who knew where some of its most carefully guarded secrets and technologies were being peddled these days.

"Have we tried hailing them, Mr. Worf?" he asked finally.

"Aye, Sir."

"Try again," Picard instructed.

Worf activated the hail.

"Sorry, Sir. There's still no response. However, Captain Riker is requesting permission to launch the _Io_ from Shuttle Bay Three."

Picard paused a moment. What Will was trying to do was risky. And it would certainly mean the destruction of a shuttlecraft. Still, Will's ship was at stake, and he had a right, even an obligation to be there. Picard knew what he would do in Will's place.

"Open a channel to the _Io_," he said finally. Riker's determined face appeared on the view screen. "Will…I understand what you're doing. I'd do exactly the same if I were in your shoes. Just…be careful."

"Aye, Sir. Thank you, Captain. Riker out."

The view screen winked back to the image of the unidentified ship, which was still firing on the _Titan_ while simultaneously striping it of its shields.

"Did you say our phasers were operational, Mr. Worf?"

"Aye, Captain. Quantum torpedoes too."

"Good," Picard replied. "Let's see if we can distract them for a few moments. Lock phasers onto it's weapon's array and fire on my mark."

Worf acknowledged the order and prepared the weapon.

Picard watched the progress of the _Io_ as it neared the edge of the _Enterprise_'s shields. As soon as the small shuttle had penetrated them, he gave Worf the order to fire.

The alien vessel did not appear damaged by the _Enterprise_'s attack, but it was sufficient to cause their attention to be momentarily diverted. Bursts of quantum torpedoes impacted against the _Enterprise_'s shields, rocking the ship hard and throwing people to the floor. Picard's automatic shoulder harness activated, binding him to the center seat and protecting him from the indignity of being thrown to the floor. Nevertheless, he deactivated the device. If his crew was going to get knocked around, he wasn't going to be any different.

"Keep firing, Mr. Worf," Picard commanded. He hoped to keep the alien vessel focused on the _Enterprise_ as long as possible, in order to give Will a better chance at being transported off the shuttle.

The bridge shuddered again and Picard hung on to keep from meeting the floor.

"Shields are down to 47 percent, Captain," Worf reported. "We are reporting damage on Decks 24 through 26, Sections C and D. Several injuries…no fatalities."

"Advise them that Doctor Crusher has set up a temporary triage in Cargo Bay 8. All wounded are to proceed there," Picard told him. It struck him, briefly, how naturally he had said that, as if, somehow, the past twenty months had not even existed. _Things are as they should be, _he thought_. In spite of our current situation_.

The _Enterprise_ had indeed distracted the alien vessel, but not for long. As the little shuttlecraft sped toward the _Titan_, it did not escape unnoticed. Moments later a flash of light shot out from the attacker and hit the _Io_ dead-on. The shuttle was obliterated.

"Picard to _Titan_…do you have Captain Riker?" he demanded, trying not to sound as frantic as he felt.

"_Titan_ here. We got him, Sir. He's safe," came a voice half distorted by static.

Picard breathed a sigh of relief. At least they had dodged that bullet.

"What is the status of the _Titan_'_s_ shields, Mr. Worf?"

The Klingon checked his display.

"They are down to fifteen percent. Sensors indicate that they have still not been able to contain the leak in the warp core. Damage to their engineering section is extensive. It is possible that no one is able to access it."

"Captain," spoke up LaForge from the engineering station. Picard turned to look at him. "If they can't get to engineering to shut that thing down…well, we don't want to be this close when it blows."

"Sir," added Wesley, who was standing over Geordi's shoulder. "There are six hundred and seventeen crew members and civilians on board the _Titan_."

Picard felt a stone in the pit of his stomach. Six hundred and seventeen.

"How much time until the warp core goes critical?" he asked his chief engineer. Geordi took a quick look at his instruments.

"I'm thinking we've got no more than fourteen minutes, if they can't get it under control."

Data spoke up.

"We should advise Captain Riker of the need to evacuate the ship. It would be the most prudent measure at this juncture, Sir."

Picard nodded.

"Agreed," he said.

"If we move the _Enterprise_ in closer," Data offered. "We could extend our shields around the _Titan_ and transport survivors directly on board."

"Make it so, Mr. Data," Picard told him. Requesting a channel to Riker be opened, he advised him of the plan.

"We're dead in the water here, Captain," came Riker's voice. "We've got casualties too. Lots of them. Anything you can do to get my people out of here would be greatly appreciated. I'm going with a team now to engineering. We're going to see if we can jettison the warp core manually."

"Understood. We're estimating you have less than fifteen minutes. Good luck, Will," Picard signed off. Reluctantly he was forming an alternate plan, in case Will's efforts were unsuccessful. He did, after all, have over eight hundred lives on the _Enterprise_ to protect as well.

"Well, if they can't come to us, we'll have to go to them." Picard turned toward his helmsman. "Maneuvering thrusters, Ensign…." He realized he did not know the young officer's name.

"Hrata, Sir," the ensign provided.

"Thank you. Maneuvering thrusters Ensign Hrata," he instructed. "Inch us toward the _Titan_."

The ensign plied her fingers to the helm panel but there was no response.

"Captain," she said, with concern. "We appear to have no helm control either. Impulse engines are…off-line."

"I'm on it, Captain," said Geordi, springing up from the engineering con and heading toward the turbo lift.

"Excuse me, Commander," Crusher replied, "But couldn't we use the tractor beam to bring the _Titan_ in close enough? It's still operational…and it would take less time than trying to get the engines back on-line."

Geordi came back to the panel where Wesley had been working and checked the indicators.

"Good thinking, Wes. Captain, he's right. It's our best bet if we want to get as many people off the _Titan_ as we can."

"Make it so, Mr. Crusher, and Geordi…we're going to need those engines very soon. If the _Titan_ goes critical…."

"You'll have them, Sir," replied Geordi, heading back to the turbo lift. "There's no way we're going to let them take out two Starfleet ships."

Picard checked the chrono and saw that time was slipping away too quickly. It worried him that they may not be able to evacuate the entire complement of the _Titan_. And he knew he would soon be even more worried if Geordi didn't get the engines back soon. He felt frustrated, waiting for all the pieces to fall into place, but he had to trust his crew. They had rarely failed him before.

Picard opened a channel to sickbay. When Beverly responded he was reminded momentarily that this was their wedding day, and that, under other circumstances, they would be finishing their meal…or perhaps sharing a dance. Neither of them had expected to be thrust back into action like this. Still, it was reassuring to hear her voice.

"Doctor, we're getting reports of a high casualty count on the _Titan_. We're going to begin evacuating her crew. There is a warp core breech in progress and unless Will can shut it down, the _Titan_ doesn't have much time," he told her.

"We're ready in Cargo Bay Eight, Captain. We'll triage the wounded and treat the less serious injuries here. If we could have some extra security people to transport the non-wounded to their quarters…."

Picard turned to Worf who gave a curt nod and sent out the orders to the security personnel.

"Consider it done, Doctor. Anything else you need?" he asked.

"Just get us through this, Captain," she replied, concern evident in her voice.

"I'll do my best. Bridge out."

Having updated Beverly on the status of things, he turned back to her son, whose fingers were flying over the controls almost as fast as Data's were capable of.

"Time is of the essence, Mr. Crusher," he prompted.

Wesley didn't look up from his work.

"I know, Sir…and…I've got it!"

Picard turned toward the view screen and saw the bluish tinged tractor beam reach out from beneath the _Enterprise_' saucer and snag the _Titan_. Slowly the great ship grew larger and larger in the view screen as the two ships inched closer together.

"Get ready to extend the shields on my mark, Mr. Worf," instructed Wesley, monitoring the progress of the _Titan_ on his sensors. It seemed like forever before he finally said: "Now!"

Picard felt the ship shift slightly as the shields reached out and encircled the _Titan_. The gravimetric stabilizers readjusted quickly however and there was no further effect. Except, of course that the enemy vessel was now firing on the _Enterprise_'s shields, which Worf reported were down to 41 percent. Each blast rocked both ships, and Picard was glad that the _Titan_ was no closer. What they did not need now was to have the two ships collide.

Data had put the transporter rooms on stand-by and reports now began to come in of the evacuation.

"The Transporter Chief is estimating it will take approximately ten minutes to evacuate the survivors on the _Titan_, Sir," he told Picard.

"How many minutes until the core goes critical?" the Captain asked him.

Data barely hesitated.

"Eleven minutes, thirty-two seconds, assuming Captain Riker is unsuccessful."

Wesley whistled.

"That's cutting it close," he said.

"Agreed," replied Picard. "Bridge to engineering. Geordi, how are we coming with those engines?"

Geordi sounded like he was inside of something when he responded.

"Not much longer, Captain. We've nearly…got…it. Give me nine or ten minutes and you'll have some speed."

"With all due haste, Mr. LaForge. I need those engines."

"You'll have them, Sir. I promise."

Picard closed the channel and turned to Data, who had a concerned look on his face.

"Captain," he said, and if Picard hadn't known better, he would have thought he sounded worried. "I have calculated that there is a less than five percent probability that all the necessary tasks to evacuate the _Titan_ and escape her subsequent explosion will occur within the allotted time limit. I am not certain that we will succeed."

Picard gazed at his first officer solemnly.

"Neither am I, Number One. But I'll be damned if we're not going to try."

In Cargo Bay Eight, the crew of the _Titan_ began to materialized. Those uninjured were guided by _Enterprise_ security crew to temporary quarters, but with each subsequent transport, more and more fell under the care of the medical teams. Some of the injuries were minor—contusions, broken bones, pulled ligaments. But many were serious—plasma burns, severed limbs, head trauma, spinal cord injuries.

Beverly barely had time to register the arrival of new _Titan_ crew. She moved among the beds assigning triage numbers to those on them, while the rest of her crew did the same. There seemed no end to the task. Pushed to the back of her mind was the fact that less than an hour before she and Jean Luc had been enjoying Wesley's toast and looking forward to an afternoon spent among friends in celebration. There certainly wasn't much to celebrate now, she mused as she called for a bone knitter for a young ensign who reminded her of Wesley. A chill ran through her as she realized any one of these might have been Wesley, had he not been on board the _Enterprise_ at the time.

So intent was Beverly on her work the she not hear the door to the cargo bay open, and she most definitely did not see Deanna enter. Left in a nearly empty sickbay, Deanna had not been able to contain her worry and her fear any longer. She had shut down her empathic abilities so as to not register the fear and pain of her fellow crewmen, but that meant also that she had cut herself off from Will as well, and she had no idea where he was or how he was, or even if he still lived. The anxiety of it had been too much for her. If anything happened to him, she knew he would be in Cargo Bay Eight first, so it was to there that she had headed.

Deanna had seen and had helped with the evacuation of planets and ships more times than she could remember. But what greeted her when the doors to Cargo Bay Eight slid open caught her off-guard. Perhaps it was that without her empathic abilities to sense their suffering, she had been unprepared for the sights she saw. Then too, she realized, these people were not anonymous strangers to her. These were her crew, her ship, her friends. She dined with them, socialized with them, cared for them as ship's counselor and as captain's wife. As they walked past her, dazed, while others lay row on row in the makeshift sickbay, she saw faces she knew, hands she'd held, people she had come to care about.

They called to her, recognizing her, and Deanna had no choice but to go to them. Automatically words of comfort and consolation came from her, but she hardly realized what she was saying. Hands reached for her, and she held them. Voices called to her, and she responded. She did what she knew she should do, yet she barely registered that she was doing it. All the time her eyes scanned the scene for a large man with a graying beard. He was nowhere to be found.

A peculiar sight did strike her, however, and it brought her out of her daze enough to realize that this was not her burden or tragedy alone. She saw Beverly, leaning over a wounded lieutenant, applying pressure to a bleeding wound, calling for assistance from one of the nearby med techs. That alone was not an unusual sight, except that Deanna realized Beverly was still wearing the dress she had been married in a mere ninety or so minutes before. Now, however, despite the presence of a blue lab coat, the front of the dress was stained with blood and other bodily emissions. It made for a most bizarre and surreal picture.

Almost as if sensing herself being stared at, Beverly looked up and spotted Deanna. She frowned. As soon as the patient she was working on was stabilized, she made her way through the crowd to Deanna and took her by the arm.

"I thought I told you to stay in sickbay," she scolded. Deanna blinked at her, as if only just registering her presence. As if coming out of a stupor, Deanna sagged with exhaustion. Beverly put her hands out to steady her.

"Is there anything wrong…the baby…?"

Deanna shook her head.

"I just couldn't wait there any longer," she told her pleadingly. "I needed to know…."

"There's no word from Will yet," Beverly told her. "Last I heard, he was trying to shut down a breech in the _Titan_'s warp core."

Deanna turned several shades paler, if that were possible. Beverly's attention was momentarily distracted as someone summoned her from across the cargo bay. Calling that she would be right there, she focused once more on Deanna.

"I want to you lie down…all right, then, at least sit down," she amended as Deanna shook her head vigorously. She guided Deanna over to some crates that had been pushed aside to maximize the floor space in the bay. "Now, I'll get back to you soon. Will you stay there?"

"You'll tell me if you get any word?" Deanna asked her plaintively. Beverly felt nothing but sympathy for her friend. She could very well imagine the agony she was feeling.

"I promise," she assured her. She hated to leave her, but the crew of the _Titan_ had to be seen to, and unfortunately, bleeding bodies took precedence over raw, painful emotions. With one more smile that she hoped was encouraging, Beverly wound her way among the tables filled with injured, back into the heart of triage.

On the bridge, Picard paced. Time was running out too fast. Soon he would have to give the order to cease transport and get the _Enterprise_ out of the _Titan_'s way. If he could, that was. Geordi still hadn't given him any engines. Not only that, but the thought of leaving any of the _Titan_ crew on board the doomed ship galled him. The alien vessel had cloaked shortly after the _Enterprise_ had brought the _Titan_ under the protection of its shield. If they had half the technology he thought they had, they certainly knew that the _Titan_ was nearing her end. Whether they had left the vicinity or were merely hanging off at a safe distance, watching their handiwork, he had no idea. And frankly, at this point, he didn't care. As long as they had ceased their attack on the _Enterprise_, he really had no time for them now. He had to save his crew and the _Titan_'s. Time, however, was not working in his favor.

"How many more minutes, Mr. Data?" he asked finally. Data had been giving him ten second reports until he had asked the android to stop. There was no doubt but that his first officer was indeed his old self.

"Provided Captain Riker is not successful, the _Titan_'s warp core will go critical in one minute forty-five seconds," Data replied.

"We're out of time," Picard said under his breath. Aloud he requested engineering.

"Mr. LaForge…" he began, but Geordi interrupted him.

"Impulse engines should be coming on-line now, Captain. Warp drive will take a little longer."

"Impulse engines are all we need for now. Thank you, Mr. LaForge." Picard turned to the helm. "Ensign Hrata…I want you to lay in a course away from the _Titan_. Go to full impulse on my command. Not before."

Hrata acknowledge the order and her fingers pressed the appropriate padds to set course.

"Mr. Crusher. Prepare to disengage tractor beam, also on my mark," Picard told Wesley.

"Aye, Captain," Wes replied.

"Captain to transporter room. Where do we stand with the _Titan_ crew, chief?"

He could hear a whine of the transporter in the background as the chief replied.

"We've beamed off all the survivors, Sir, except for a team that's in the engineering section. Radiation there is too high for us to get a transporter lock on. They'll have to get out of there."

Picard turned to Worf.

"Open a channel to the _Titan_," he said, but Worf was already on it. "Picard to Riker. Will…can you hear me?"

There was a shriek of static, but after a few adjustments by Worf, Riker's voice became clear.

"I'm here, Captain."

"Will, what the hell are you doing in there? We've evacuated your crew except for your team there. Your warp core is going to go critical in less than a minute and a half. You need to get out of there now!"

"I think with a little more time we can get this locked down," came Riker's voice. Picard shook his head at his former first officer's obstinance.

"Will, I've got to move the _Enterprise_ out of here. I can't risk the lives of two entire crews. You and your team need to leave now. We can't get a lock on you. You have to get out of engineering."

"It's my ship, Jean Luc," came Riker's strained voice. Picard understood. He'd been there more than once himself. When he'd had to abandon the _Stargazer_, his first command…when he'd had to troll through the wreckage of the _Enterprise__-D _to find a few treasured mementos…. The pain in Riker's voice was pain he recognized. But he also knew something that he sensed Will hadn't learned yet. The ship didn't matter. It wasn't about hull platings and warp cores and computer modules and shuttle bays. It wasn't circuitry and jeffries tubes and dilithium crystals that made a ship. It was its people. Its crew. Save them, and the ship is saved. Lose them, and all the gleaming technology wasn't worth a damn.

"It's your life, Will. And it's worth more than your ship. Now get the hell out of there."

There was a pause. Jean Luc could practically taste the bitterness of Will's decision.

"Understood, Sir. We're out of here."

Picard let out breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Part of him had worried Will would make a final quixotic attempt to save the ship. He was relieved to be wrong, for once.

"Transporter room…Captain Riker and his team are moving to another area. As soon as they are accessible, beam them out of there."

"Captain," Data's voice carried a note of alarm. "The warp core breech seems to be accelerating at a faster rate than initially calculated. We have less than a forty-five seconds to get out of range."

Picard knew they needed at least thirty seconds at full impulse to get beyond the primary shock wave of the _Titan_'s destruction. He wanted to make sure Will and the others got off, but time had run out.

"Mr. Crusher, disengage the tractor beam. Mr. Worf, retract the shields from the _Titan_. Ensign Hrata, go to full impulse on my mark…" Picard held his breath and counted to seven. He prayed the transporter had nabbed the rest of the _Titan_ crew, but he couldn't wait even long enough to ask.

"Now," he ordered finally, recentering his gravity as the impulse engines kicked in and swung the huge ship away from it's smaller cousin.

"All hands," he announced, ship wide. "Brace for impact."

In Cargo Bay Eight, Beverly was still keeping an eye on Deanna even while she moved among the _Titan_ crew evaluating their injuries. She could tell her friend was restless and was not surprised to see her struggle to her feet and make her way once more among the _Titan_ crewmen who were being treated. Beverly shook her head in amazement. As frightened as she knew Deanna was, as overwhelmed with fatigue and concern as she knew the Betazoid must be, Beverly was struck by her attention to her crew and her desire to help them, no matter what the personal cost.

_Nevertheless_, Beverly thought. _I can't let her do this, regardless of how much she may want to. _ Once again, Beverly wended her way among the temporary biobeds to admonish Deanna to rest. Deanna preempted her this time.

"Don't scold me, Beverly," she pleaded. "If I don't do something I'm going to perish in my own fears."

Beverly nodded in understanding.

"I know, but you can't keep taxing yourself like this, Deanna. I'm telling you…."

There was a sudden shift in the engine sounds and Deanna and Beverly exchanged looks of concern.

"We're moving…" began Deanna, the fear in her eyes magnifying.

Beverly was reaching for her comm badge when Jean Luc's voice came over the loudspeaker.

"All hands, brace for impact!"

Deanna reached for the nearest biobed and grabbed on to it. Beverly instinctively threw a protective arm over her friend and likewise tried to secure a hold on the biobed. As everyone heeded Picard's warning an eerie silence hung over the crowded cargo bay. Suddenly the ship lurched, as if it were skidding on ice. There was some evidence of a spin for a moment, but the inertial dampeners kicked in and the sensation subsided. Despite the warning, people were thrown to the floors, trays of instruments and hyposprays went clattering. Crates around the edges toppled, nearly crushing crew who had sought support near the bulkhead. Beverly tried holding on to Deanna, who had lost her grip and was swung around, crashing into a biobed that had shifted. Beverly herself landed on the floor, her arm up to defend against a tray of equipment that clattered on top of her.

Pulling herself up, she went to Deanna who was struggling to get to her feet. As soon as the two women were upright, Beverly hit her comm badge.

"Sickbay to the bridge…is everyone all right up there?"

Relief washed over her when Jean Luc responded.

"A little shaken, but otherwise fine."

Beverly dreaded the answer to her next question but she had to ask it.

"Captain…what was that?"

A moment of silence told her the answer before she even heard the anguish of Jean Luc's voice.

"I'm afraid it was the _Titan_. Mr. Worf reports damage to deck 25 from a piece of _Titan_ hull. You may want to send a medical team down there."

"We're on it, Captain," replied Beverly as she made motions to three nearby techs to comply with the captain's request. "Jean Luc, did we get everyone off?"

The pause before his reply left her feeling nearly nauseous.

"Mr. Worf reports that 56 crew are unaccounted for," he said solemnly.

Deanna' eyes pleaded with her to ask the next question.

"What about Captain Riker…I'm here with Deanna…..'

There was another long pause.

"The ship's sensors were overloaded by the explosion. At this point, Beverly, it's unknown. I'm sorry."

Deanna hung her head and Beverly could hear her weeping. Fighting her own emotions she held her friend, who's body began to wrack with sobs. From the corner of her eye she caught a sudden movement, and Beverly turned to see, through her own tear-stained vision, Will Riker standing there. His once pristine white dress uniform was gray and singed and his face was half-black with soot. Obvious radiation burns had bubbled his skin that was exposed through torn or disintegrated sleeves of his uniform. His eyes, when they met Beverly's, held a darkened, haunted look.

"Deanna." His voice was husky from smoke.

Deanna looked up in disbelief, and in a moment he had her in his arms.

"_Imzadi_! I'd thought I'd lost you," Beverly heard her say. But this time Will had no witty reply. He just held Deanna closer, enveloping her in his embrace, kissing her hair.

Suddenly, Deanna let out a cry of pain and, pulling away from Will, doubled over. Beverly was at her side in an instant, tricorder out, scanning her.

"Deanna?!" Will cried, reaching for her, as she looked as if she were about to sink to her knees.

Beverly looked up at him.

"She's gone in to labor, Will. I need her in sickbay, now."

"It's too soon…!" he said hoarsely, the fear evident in his face. Beverly shook her head.

"No…it should be okay. But I don't want her to deliver the baby here."

Will nodded grimly and scooped up his wife in his arms as if she were no more than a feather. Beverly summoned Dr. Ogawa and placed her in charge of the triage. Now that the rest of the _Titan_ crew were all aboard, the most traumatic cases had already been identified. Even though she hated to leave, she felt comfortable doing so at this point. Besides. Deanna needed her now.

As they stepped into the turbo lift, Beverly had a chance to look at Will's injuries more closely. She glanced up at him sharply.

"Will, those are severe radiation burns. As soon as we're in sickbay, I want you treated for those."

"I'm not leaving her," Will stated forcefully. Beverly knew there was no point in arguing with him. She wasn't even sure she wanted to. Deanna did need him. They could probably take care of him in labor and delivery anyway.

"Crusher to the bridge," she said, instead. Jean Luc's voice answered.

"Captain…I thought you should know…Captain Riker and the rest of the _Titan_

crew were beamed safely to Cargo Bay Eight. I'm with Will now…we're on our way to sickbay. He has severe radiation burns on his arms but with treatment he should be fine."

The relief in Picard's voice was evident.

"Thank you, Doctor. We had been…concerned."

"I also think you should know, Captain, that Counselor Troi has gone into labor," Beverly added.

On the bridge Picard knitted his brow. He couldn't tell from Beverly's voice if this was a problem or not.

"Is there any cause for alarm?" he asked her.

"I don't think so, Captain. I'll keep you advised. Crusher out."

Picard sat back in his chair and felt himself relax for the first time since the red alert had sounded what seemed like a lifetime ago. A glint of gold caught his eye and he noticed for the first time the simple ring that Beverly had given him during their wedding. He was not a man who cared much for adornment. The times he had been required to masquerade as a Bajoran he'd felt distinctly uncomfortable wearing the traditional Bajoran earring. He and Beverly had debated whether or not to exchange rings during their ceremony. While they both came from very deep-rooted earth heritages which attached great importance to such symbols, they likewise had wondered if it might not be better for the crew and for their missions if their marriage was low-profile and not immediately obvious. In the end, however, they had decided to exchange the rings, and now Picard was glad that they had. Looking at it on his finger reminded him that he was connected to someone—that he was half of a greater whole--and no longer the lone man he had been for much of his life.

Data interrupted his moment of contentment with a report from engineering. The shock of the _Titan_'s destruction had knocked their impulse engines off-line again so Geordi was back to working on them as well as on the warp-drive. Wesley Crusher had left the bridge to assist with the repairs now that he was no longer needed to man the tractor beam. According to Data, the engines would be off-line for another ninety-six minutes.

"Maintain yellow alert, Mr. Worf," Picard instructed. "And keep on our toes just in case our friends make their presence known. Their attack on the _Titan_ couldn't have just been random and I don't believe for a moment that they're not out there watching us. I don't want to be caught off-guard."

Worf set the sensors for the highest resolution scan possible. With that done, there was little else he or the captain could do. So they just sat back and waited.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Just one more time, Deanna. You're nearly there," said Beverly encouragingly. Deanna was focused on the moment, she could tell, and probably wasn't even hearing her. Most women giving birth tended to tune out just about everything being said or done around them, Beverly knew. Still, she felt better at least saying something. She glanced up and saw the beads of perspiration on Deanna's face and her death-grip on Will's hand. If he were feeling any pain from it, though, he did not show it. His attention was torn between Deanna's face and Beverly's hands as she guided this new life into the universe.

Beverly had read Dr. Pulaski's report on Deanna's first pregnancy years ago. An alien life force, curious about the _Enterprise_ and it's occupants, had decided to explore the ship by going through the process of being born. Deanna had been selected as it's mother-host, going through conception and an accelerated pregnancy that had lasted only about seventy-two hours. After a painless delivery, Deanna's body had nearly instantly returned to a condition where an examination would never have been able to tell that she had ever been pregnant or given birth. The child itself had grown at an astounding rate but had abandoned its human form when it learned its presence was endangering the crew of the _Enterprise_.

Deanna rarely talked about Ian, the name she had given her son. Beverly knew it was a deeply painful memory for her and never brought it up, but she wondered if Deanna's experience then had left her with a misleading impression as to what a normal labor and delivery was like. This birth was anything but painless, and because of the rapid onset of labor, Beverly had not been able to give her anything to ease her suffering. Centuries ago women had agonized through the birthing process and even when pain-lessening medications had become available, many eschewed their use in favor of "natural childbirth". Beverly shook her head at the thought. Natural as it was, giving birth was a trauma for both mother and child. Anything to ease that was a blessing to be embraced, not avoided.

But in Deanna's instance, there was no choice. As she released a final cry of pain, Beverly freed a tiny shoulder and delivered the rest of the baby.

"It's a girl," she announced, placing the baby in the awaiting bassinette. Usually she let the father cut the cord, but one glance at Will told her that he was barely holding up as it was. She quietly severed the umbilical cord herself and let the waiting nurse take the baby for its initial weighing and clean-up. Within moments the child was bundled and Beverly, smiling, placed her in her mother's arms.

Will was mesmerized. There were very few things Beverly had ever seen which had left Will Riker at a loss for words, but the first few moments with his daughter was one of them. Beverly thought back to the moment they had handed her Wesley. Jack, of course, had not been there. Those were the days before Galaxy-class starships and families on-board, and he had been off with Jean Luc on the _Stargazer_. There had been an aching loneliness at the time, having no one to share her beautiful new son with except the hospital staff. It was a bittersweet memory.

"I think she favors you, Deanna," Beverly told her, looking down at the little girl whose eyes were definitely the dark color of a Betazoid.

"I thought for sure she'd have my beard," quipped Will, finally, a spark of his old self returning.

Deanna gave him a loving look.

"Have you picked out a name yet?" Beverly asked. She saw Will and Deanna exchange glances in a private conversation. Both smiled.

"Kestra," Will announced. "Kestra Riker"

"After your sister," Beverly said to Deanna.

"Yes," replied Deanna, playing with her daughter's tiny curled fists. "It seemed like a good way to honor her memory." Deanna looked up at Beverly, tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she said. "I'm so glad you were here…."

Her own eyes moist, Beverly reached down and hugged her before finding a reason to be busy elsewhere. It was time to let the new family have a few moments alone.

Beverly was about to close the door panel to give them privacy when Will's voice rose in alarm.

"Deanna? Deanna!"

Beverly hurried back to the bedside. Will's face was panic-stricken. Deanna seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness. Beverly quickly scanned the bio-monitors and didn't like what she saw. She had probably been injured when the _Titan_ shock wave had thrown them around, Beverly realized. She picked up a now wailing Kestra from Deanna's limp embrace and handed the swaddled infant to Will, whom she escorted from the room.

"Beverly, what…" he said, stunned.

"She's hemorrhaging, Will. We can fix it, but you've got to let us do our job. Take your daughter and go in there." She pointed to a nearby waiting room. "Everything will be okay." She gave Will a little push, as he seemed incapable of moving. With a nod of encouragement to him she stepped back into Deanna's room, closing the door panel behind her. Already a surgical team was making preparations. As she gowned up, it occurred to Beverly that it had been a long time since she'd done this. Too long, she wondered? She hoped not. Giving her head a little shake in an effort to dispel her own doubts, she took a deep breath and began.

Twenty minutes later, more exhausted than she knew she should have been, Beverly entered the small waiting room and slumped onto a seat next to Will. The child was sleeping quietly and Will appeared as if he'd done nothing but sit and stare at her the entire time. He looked up at Beverly, though, as she peeled off her red surgical cap and sat back, closing her eyes.

"Deanna's dead," he said, his voice husky and lifeless. Beverly's eyes snapped open.

"What? No…no, Will. She's going to be fine!" She explained the problem and the ensuing surgery. "She's asleep now. She needs to rest. You can see her in a little while."

Will looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed.

"I don't know what I was thinking," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "Getting married…having a child. Is this any way to raise a family…always in danger?"

Beverly placed her hand on Will's arm.

"Well, you could always take Deanna and Kestra and go find a quiet cottage in the mountains of Betazed or overlooking the glaciers of Alaska," she told him with a faint smile. "And yes, chances are good no Romulans or Borg or renegade Cardassians would attack them there. There wouldn't be any weird spacial anomalies or freakish technological failures." She patted his arm affectionately. "I'm sure you'd all be very safe—and bored to death."

"But this kind of life…" Will began. Beverly interrupted him.

"Trust me, Will. I've tried life planet side, twice now, since I came to the _Enterprise_. I won't make the mistake a third time." She ran her fingers through her messy hair and sighed.

"Who wouldn't like to throw a bubble around the people they love and keep them safe forever? But that's not us, Will. That's not you. That's not me. That's not Jean Luc. That's not even Deanna."

She smiled wearily at the sleeping child.

"We're out here because this is as much a part of who we are as the code that makes us unique genetic individuals. Something in us drives us to be here. Even though this place takes and takes from us, again and again. But still we return. We can't help it."

"In other words, I shouldn't worry?" Riker grimaced. Beverly shook her head.

"Of course you should worry. Your captain of a ship, a husband and now a father. Worry is your job. Do you think I don't worry? Space took my son's father from me. It's tried more than once to take my son…if he hadn't been here today at the wedding, where do you think Wesley would have been on the _Titan_, Will?"

She saw the realization in Will's eyes.

"Engineering," he admitted.

"Yes," said Beverly with great weariness. "And he'd probably be dead. Hell yes, I want to keep him safe, tuck him away somewhere! But you know, I can't. He happiest when he's out here. As am I. As are you and Deanna. As Kestra probably will be some day too."

Will's shoulders sagged as if the weight of the galaxy had been placed on them. His life had changed this day, for the good and for the bad, she realized. Will Riker would never again be the same.

Beverly had never seen the big, self-assured man so lost, so undone. His shoulders began to shake and he could contain himself no longer. Beverly reached out to him, wrapping her arms around him as she had once before when he'd carried the Trill symbiont Odan, whom she'd loved. Only this time it was her friend Will who needed her. Unrelenting sobs shook his whole body and he placed his head on Beverly's shoulder and wept.

When the door of the turbo lift hissed open, Picard looked up, expecting to see LaForge with a status report on the engines. Instead, to his surprise, Beverly emerged onto the bridge. It had been hours since he'd seen her and he noticed that, like he, she had not had the opportunity to change out of her wedding clothes. They were stained and ruined beyond recovery, offering evidence of the strain she'd been under since they had parted. He realized that perhaps he should have gone down to sickbay to see her, but he had been worried he would have just been in the way. She obviously had news for him now, and he led the way to his ready room.

The door had barely closed behind them before she was in his arms.

"Just hold me," she pleaded. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. It smelled like an odd mixture of antiseptic, soot and talcum powder. She clung to him fiercely for a few moments and then let go, stepping back.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, pushing her hair out of her face. "It's just…."

"…not quite the day we expected," Jean Luc finished for her. Beverly nodded. He took her by the hand and they sat on the sofa.

"How's Deanna?" he asked.

"The proud mother of a baby girl—Kestra Riker. There were…complications, but she should be fine now."

Jean Luc did not like the sound of that, but he decided not to press Beverly further.

"How did the crew of the _Titan_ fair?" he asked instead. Her reaction was even more severe.

"Forty-seven crew are missing and presumed dead," she sighed. "We lost twenty- six more from extensive injuries after they'd beamed aboard the _Enterprise_. I have forty-two in critical condition, although I expect most of them to recover. All the rest were relatively minor injuries that can be treated in their quarters. We're cleaning out Cargo Bay Eight even as we speak. All the worst cases have been transferred to sickbay."

"Well done, Doctor," Jean Luc commended her, but she stood up and paced back and forth.

"I'm not so sure," she confessed. "I felt so damned rusty out there, Jean Luc. Like I was all thumbs."

He leaned back, watching her.

"You've been sitting behind a desk too long," he told her. "James Kirk warned me once never to accept a promotion. It's the death of people like you and I."

She returned to the sofa and sat next to him, still wringing her hands.

"I'd forgotten how it is to be so close to people…Starfleet Medical is so far removed from all of this."

Jean Luc laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You just had to jump in with both feet, is all. Give yourself time. It will all come back."

Beverly smiled at him gratefully.

"How about you?" she asked. "This hasn't exactly been your day-job lately either."

"No," admitted the captain. "But…it felt rather invigorating, I must admit. Perhaps there was something to your concern about us getting addicted to the rush of adrenaline. I just wish it hadn't have come at such a cost." He thought of the missing forty-seven _Titan_ crew and the twenty-six bodies in the morgue. He didn't envy Will.

A moment later both he and Beverly were startled as the red alert klaxon began to wail yet again. Jean Luc shot her a look of concern and they both headed for the bridge.

"The unknown vessel has decloaked, Sir," announced Data. "She is sitting dead-ahead at 400 kilometer. Shield are up and at seventy-five percent," the first officer added.

"Very good, Mr. Data," the captain approved.

"Who are they?" asked Beverly, peering at the view screen. She did not recognize the ship design but it made her think of a terran insect…a wasp…as it hovered out there, waiting to strike.

"Captain," came Worf's surprised voice. "The alien vessel is hailing us."

"On-screen," instructed Picard, turning. Finally, the cowards were going to show themselves. The star field and ship winked away to reveal a dark bridge with three shadowy forms. They appeared humanoid in form, although it was difficult to tell as all three wore dark hoods over their heads. When they spoke, their voices were obviously synthesized, whether this was to permit them to speak at all or to disguise their voices, Picard could not tell.

"We come for the female Betazoid half-breed and her offspring. Turn her over and we will spare your ship," the toneless voice demanded. If they had asked him for cup of sugar, Picard couldn't have been more surprised. Of all the demands he might have expected them to make, asking for Deanna was the farthest from his mind. He couldn't begin to fathom their motives. They would have to leave figuring that out for later, however. At the moment their adversaries needed to know that he would not be coerced.

Picard walked to where he knew he would be directly in the center of the transmission and faced them down.

"We will not be intimidated by your threats, and I will not turn anyone on this ship over to thugs and kidnappers," he replied, his voice as icy and authoritative as he could make it.

"We are not kidnappers, Captain," came the toneless response. "We are executioners. You have one standard hour to comply, or you will face the same fate as the _Titan_."

With that, the transmission ended.

"Son of a…."

Picard whirled. He had been so focused on the view screen he had not heard Will come onto the bridge. He didn't even have to guess at his friends emotions; the rage was written all over Riker's face. He couldn't say he blamed him, either. But at the moment, uncontrolled rage wasn't going to solve this situation. He needed Will's help and he needed him calm.

"Captain…Will…will you join me in my ready room?" invited Picard, hoping to stave off the explosion that he knew Will was barely containing.

Will nodded probably more curtly than he intended and walked the familiar path to the ready room.

"I'll think I'll go check on my patients in sickbay," Beverly said quietly.

"Keep me posted, Doctor," replied Picard as he followed Will into the ready room. He tried to think of what he was going to say to the man. Riker had just lost his ship and over sixty of his crew and now his wife and child were at risk. There was little comfort to offer.

In the ready room Will stood staring out the window at the enemy ship. He wiped his hand across his face as if trying to clear away the tangle of emotions he was feeling. Picard just let him be, letting him deal with the inner struggle before forcing him to speak.

"Permission to launch a quantum torpedo and blow them all to Hell," Riker said finally.

"Will…" Picard began, but he didn't get any further.

"Goddam it, Jean Luc! I've got to do something…. They destroyed my ship…my crew… And now they want Deanna…and Kestra! Why? And how dare they call her… I swear, Captain, if I ever get my hands on those bastards…."

Picard permitted him to vent his anger. He knew too well that as captain of a starship, there were very few to whom one could let their feeling run unbridled. Will would have to rein them in soon enough, but Picard knew he needed these few moments to air his anger and fear.

However, a few moments were all he could permit. They had a deadline now, and they had to make the most of it, least they face the _Titan_'s fate.

"Will," he interrupted finally. "God knows, I'd probably feel the same way if I were in your shoes. But right now I don't need a vengeful husband and father…I need a Starfleet captain. We're as doomed as the _Titan_ if we don't figure a way out of this and I need you to set aside your other emotions for the moment and focus on the task at hand. Otherwise you won't do yourself or your crew or your family any good. Now…I need to call a meeting of my senior staff so we can figure this thing out. I need you there and functional, not going off half-cocked against something we don't have the slightest idea about. Can you handle this?"

He meant to make it challenging, and he did. Will's eyes narrowed as he glared at his former captain, but Jean Luc knew the younger man was rising to the occasion. Jean Luc knew him too well to believe otherwise.

"Yes, Sir, I can most certainly handle it," Riker replied, icily.

"Then see that you do. We'll convene in the observation lounge in five minutes." Picard turned to go, but he paused at the door. He had meant to verbally slap Will to his senses, not alienate him.

"Will," he added, turning back, his tone conciliatory. "Just, take a few moments. I give you my word…I won't let anything happen to your family if it is within my power. But I need your help."

He saw Riker's look soften and some of the stiffness left his spine.

"I know, Captain. And I appreciate it. I will join you shortly…I just, need to catch my breath, so to speak."

Picard nodded and left his friend to sift through the ashes of the day.

The combined surviving senior staffs of the _Enterprise_ and _Titan_ convened in the observation lounge six minutes later. Absent was Riker's first officer, who had been lost when the engineering section had been destroyed. Also missing was the _Titan_ CMO, Dr. T'Nor, who had taken it upon himself to oversee the care of the _Titan_ crew. Dr. Adagga, the current ships counselor on the _Enterprise_ had been on shore leave for the past week and was absent as well. Deanna, of course, remained in sickbay, still asleep after her surgery.

The recording of the alien's demands had just finished when Lieutenant Collins spoke up.

"First thing they did after they decloaked was to get off a shot at the engineering section. I guess they figured if they took our engines off-line they'd have a better chance at getting our attention," he swallowed. "Then they demanded the Betazoid…uh, Counselor Troi, I mean…," Collins added nervously, with a glance at Riker. His spot-promotion to second officer had taken the young man by surprise. However, he was the only surviving member of the senior bridge crew to have been on duty when the attack came. What little there was to know, he knew it.

"Then what happened, Lieutenant?" asked Riker. Picard was relieved to see he had left his personal feelings behind and was behaving as a captain again.

"Well, we weren't exactly sure what they meant by that. If you recall, sir, we also have two other Betazoid crewmen on the _Titan_. I mean, we had."

"Continue…" Picard encouraged him. The young man swallowed hard again.

"Well, our shields went up…but the readings were strange. Before they fired another shot, they somehow started to deplete our shields. It was like they just drained them from us. It took only a minute before the shields were down to seventy-five percent, then they started the barrage. It was just after that when you shuttled over, Sir," he said, nodding at Captain Riker. "They kept stripping our shields until they were completely gone."

"But why Deanna?" asked Beverly, looking around the table. "I mean, are we sure it's even her they want?"

Riker nodded solemnly.

"Deanna's only half-Betazoid, remember. They specifically said 'the half-breed' The word sounded distasteful in his mouth. "All other members of the ship from Betazed are full-blooded Betazoid. Not to mention, they're male."

"They must have scanned the Titan and finally figured out she wasn't on board," Geordi added. "That's when they turned on the Enterprise."

"Except they knew that the Titan's warp core was critical—so they left," Wesley amended. "But I bet they backed off only far enough so they didn't suffer any damage."

"You can bet they didn't go far," Geordi agreed. "How else would they have known Counselor Troi had had her baby?"

Worf spoke up.

"Our sensors were non-operational for a period of about fifteen minutes. If they scanned us during that time there would be no record of it."

Picard shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. It's obvious they were able to identify that Deanna was present on the Enterprise and that we are now their target. The question is, why?" he turned to Riker. "Will…can you think of anyone who would have a vendetta against Deanna? Someone who was somehow so displeased with her that they wished to harm her?" he asked.

"Since the threat was made against both Counselor Troi and her child," added Data. "It is also conceivable that the object of revenge is not counselor Troi but someone upon whom Counselor Troi's death and the death of her child would have the most impact." All eyes turned toward Will. Picard could tell he was struggling to maintain his professionalism. He had to admire his former first officer. He had become a fine commander.

"We've had a lot of missions over the past seventeen years…many of them together, but many separate as well. I can't say they were all successes, but none stand out in my mind where there were specific threats leveled at either Deanna or myself," Riker responded.

Picard steepled his hands, thinking.

"Do you believe this could in any way be connected to your recent work with the Romulan Task Force?" he asked. The cloaking device, after all, did have a Romulan signature to it.

Riker was shaking his head.

"I don't think so…but I just don't know. I know there are hard-liners on Romulus who would rather go down in a blaze of glory than contemplate an alliance with the Federation. But I'm not sure how killing," he stumbled over the words, "Deanna…would have any impact on the negotiations."

"Well," said Picard, sitting forward in his chair. "Motive will, for the moment, have to take a secondary priority. Our first priority is maintaining our shields and getting our engines back on-line. Obviously we will not turn Deanna or her daughter over to these assassins, however, we must also not fall to the same fate as the _Titan_. Geordi, Worf—Wesley—I want you to study what information is available from our previous encounter with these beings and see if you can figure out how they're taking down our shields and how we can prevent it. And see if you can figure out where that damned thing came from. You have twenty-five minutes." The three rose and left the room. "Mr. Collins, would you please join them. As of now you are our resident expert on the alien vessel."

Looking relieved to be done with the meeting, Lt. Collins followed LaForge, Worf and Crusher from the observation lounge. Picard looked around at the remaining faces. Will was working his hands in an apparent effort to keep his emotions in check. Data was waiting expectantly for the next assignment Picard would hand out. Beverly seemed lost in thought.

"I do believe we also need to get to the bottom of why this is happening. Will…could you work with Data to review the mission logs. Start with those you and Deanna worked on together, then separately. It may help us to figure out who this enemy is and how best we can circumvent their intentions."

They made motions to begin to leave when finally Beverly spoke.

"What if it has nothing to do with any of the missions?" she asked. The three sat back down and waited.

"What do you mean?" asked Picard. He had come to appreciate Beverly's insight on matters. She often saw things the others overlooked.

"I mean…we're thinking of this as a vengeance factor, but what if it's not? What if it's something about Deanna herself, and not tied to anything connected with Starfleet."

"An interesting hypothesis, Doctor," replied Data. "But as most of Counselor Troi's adult life has been in Starfleet, it is illogical to think that this is not in some way tied to her efforts on either the _Enterprise_ or the _Titan_."

"Is it?" returned Beverly. "Play the recording again."

Data activated the view screen and they witnessed for the third time the demands and threats of the alien vessel.

"See?" said Beverly, freezing the frame. "They didn't identify her by any Starfleet rank…or by her relationship to Will. They were very specific to call her a Betazoid. What if this has to do with the fact that she is Betazoid?"

"If this were some sort of persecution of Betazoids, then why would they not also have requested the other Betazoids on the _Titan_ be turned over to them as well?" postulated Data.

"No, Data. I don't mean the fact that she's Betazoid, but that she is Deanna Troi of Betazed. I confess, I don't know a lot about Betazed culture apart from what Deanna's told me, but we've all heard Lwaxana go on and on about…oh what is it? Some sort of ceremonial things…."

"The Sacred Chalice of Rixx and the Holy Rings of Betazed?" supplied Will.

"Yes!" exclaimed Beverly. "Exactly! I mean, granted, none of us have taken Lwaxana too seriously, but what if on Betazed these are important things? Is there real position or power associated with these? That could, at least, explain why they want to kill Kestra as well as Deanna. Taking out whole royal families worked for a lot of Terran rulers back in the middle ages."

Will had a slim nostalgic smile.

"Deanna always described the Sacred Chalice of Rixx as a 'moldy old pot'," he recalled. "I'm not sure it has any value—except to Lwaxana."

"Well, at least it's another working hypothesis. Beverly, if your duties permit, could you look into that further? We'll reconvene in twenty-five minutes. Dismissed."

Beverly lingered as Riker and Data left the lounge.

"The irony in all this," said Picard as he walked with Beverly toward the door. "Is this is one of those times when it would be most useful to have Deanna's abilities at our disposal."

"I know," she told him. "But that's out of the question. I'm keeping her in an induced sleep until we sort this out. She needs to heal…physically and emotionally…before she has to face this threat." She glanced sideways at her husband. "How is Will holding up?"

Jean Luc shrugged.

"As well as can be expected, under the circumstances."

Beverly stopped and faced him.

"Just remember, Jean Luc. He's your peer now, not your First Officer. You've taught him well but the decisions are his now. And he's got more at stake here than anyone."

As Picard watched the door close behind her, he thought about what Beverly had said. Will did have everything at stake in this matter. Picard knew he could guide and counsel him, but ultimately Will's actions were his own. He thought of the handful of good men he had known who had been brought down by their own need for vengeance. Thankfully he also could name several who had risen above their anger and grief and gone on with their lives. In the anti-time future Q had showed him, Picard had already had a glimpse of a Will Riker who had let bitterness destroy his life. Whatever it took, he vowed, he would not let that be his friend's fate.

Twenty-five minutes later, the senior staff, with the exception of Beverly, found themselves once again gathered around the conference table in the observation lounge. They could see the alien vessel hanging in space through the large vista windows that edged the room. Picard could not shake the sense that they were being watched, very closely.

"We've got good news, Captain," spoke Geordi first. "We think we've figured out how they're stripping our shields. It's not unlike the method the Borg used. They've developed some sort of device that searches for and matches our shield harmonics. It then inverts the harmonic wave in sync with the shield wave and, voila, they cancel each other out. Pretty straight-forward, but effective. The tricky part is figuring out what our shield harmonic is."

"Do we have a way to inhibit his harmonic disruption?" Picard asked them. Geordi and Wesley exchanged looks.

"Not inhibit exactly, Sir," Wesley replied. "But the trick will be to keep ahead of them as they match our harmonics. You know how we used to keep readjusting our phasers when we encountered the Borg? Well, it's a similar principle. We need to keep readjusting the shields. There are enough frequencies available that we can keep them busy for, what did we say, Geordi, about fifty, fifty-five minutes?

"Yeah," replied the chief engineer. "But that's with constant readjustments. Manually. If we leave it to the computer, even set on random, I think they'd be able to figure out our strategy, maybe even anticipate the computer's next move. You need the human factor in there to keep them guessing."

Riker frowned.

"Will that be enough time to get the warp engines back on line?"

Geordi nodded.

"It should be plenty, Captain. We were nearly there before our friends reappeared with their ultimatum."

"Sir, we've also been able to identify some rare elements on the hull of the alien ship. Specifically, neptunium and ransillian," Wesley went on. "There's only one place in this sector where those elements could be picked up in enough quantity to have survived warp speed and the deployment of a cloaking device." He paused. "The Badlands."

Picard blanched.

"The Badlands?" he repeated. Just the name gave him chills. Too many terrible things had happened to too many Starfleet vessels in the Badlands. Still it made sense. Riker seemed to agree.

"Well, that would explain how they got hold of a Romulan cloaking device," Will said. "There are more black market vendors hiding out in the Badlands than there are Ferengi at a salvage site."

Picard was relieved to see some of Riker's innate humor was returning.

"Sir, we need to get to work preparing for the shield remodulations. They'll need to be done at a lightening speed, if this is to work," Wesley told them.

Picard looked at his first officer.

"Mr. Data," he said. "This appears to be one of those times when your unique abilities are required."

"I will endeavor to do my best sir," Data assured him.

As Geordi and Wesley left, Picard turned to the others.

"Any luck with a motive?"

"We've scoured the mission logs, Captain," Riker told him with frustration. "But nothing really stands out. Still, both Deanna and I have been with Starfleet a long time, so who knows how far back a grudge could go?"

"According to my analysis," Data reported. "Counselor Troi has engaged in 279 away missions while on board the _Enterprise_, assisted in 17 first contacts, aided in the negotiation of 22 treaties, and represented the Federation on 34 diplomatic missions. While there have been expressions of displeasure associated with 34 of the missions in which she participated, no dissatisfaction was directed specifically at her. Likewise, no death threats were ever made against her while she was aboard the _Enterprise_ _D_ or _E_."

"That's not going to help us pinpoint our friends out there, is it," mused Picard. "Doctor, have you had any better luck?"

Beverly had been delayed in sickbay and had joined the meeting over the comm.

"Well, our cultural database on Betazed is filled with all sorts of interesting information," she reported. "None of which was remotely useful in finding out about the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, except that it is one of five sacred objects held by different families on Betazed since time immemorial, so it seems. What exactly they chalice is, or why it's important isn't covered. If I had time, I'd try to locate Lwaxana…."

Will looked up quickly.

"Deanna had a message from her mother just this morning," he said, remembering. "She'd been concerned because she hadn't heard from Lwaxana for a while…which is pretty unusual, given Deanna's pregnancy. Then this morning suddenly there was a message. I don't think Deanna ever even had a chance to read it…we were hurrying for the wedding…."

Riker paused. It seemed like the simple ceremony in front of the old, French chateau was a distant memory. How much had happened in so little time. He sighed.

"Deanna put it into her personal mail folder to read it later. Of course, it's gone now, with everything else."

Picard turned to his tactical officer.

"Mr. Worf, contact relay base 209 and see if they can resend that message to the _Enterprise_."

Worf acknowledged the request and within moments confirmed that the message had been resent.

"You should be able to access it now, Captains," he told Riker and Picard. Riker entered the appropriate access codes and within seconds the familiar face of Lwaxana Troi appeared on the screen. But this was not the Lwaxana either of them were used to seeing. Gone was the flamboyance and the Betazed haute couture. Instead was a woman who looked like she could use a long hot shower and a good night's sleep. Her voice was hushed, as if fearful someone might overhear her.

"Deanna…this message is absolutely urgent so please don't file it away in your personal files and not bother to read it for a week…by the way, how are you, little one? I've been so worried about you and the baby, I wish I could…but that will have to wait. Deanna, you must listen to me. You are in danger…mortal danger. I would have come to you myself, but I have gone into hiding with Mr. Homn…not that it's easy to hide when Mr. Homn is with you, he is rather conspicuous. Besides, I was worried that I would lead them right to you. But now it appears they have changed their tactics and I fear that instead of pursuing me, they're going to be coming for you. Oh I know Will has that great big ship to protect you, but I really am worried Deanna. Things on Betazed are not as they seem. The _jzatar_ are gaining in strength and influence, and they know that once I am gone, you will be the Daughter of the Fifth House, and that the Sacred Chalice of Rixx will be yours. I've never explained all this business to you, I know. Frankly, my dear, you never seemed interested. And really, until now, I thought it wouldn't matter. But since the war with the Dominion, the _jzatar_ have been digging into things that were better left alone, and now, well, I can't send this over subspace. It's really just too dangerous. But do watch out. I will try to contact you again in a week or so. Stay safe, Little One. And keep your little one safe too. My love to William." The transmission ended.

Riker and Picard looked at each other. Perhaps here was the key to the mystery of their attackers.

"The _jzatar_?" asked Beverly, who had viewed the message in her office. "I'm not familiar with that name."

"It is unlikely you would be, Doctor," Data replied. "The _jzatar_ are a faction of isolationists on Betazed. While primarily considered a non-threatening fanatical group for centuries, following the Dominion War their sentiments of isolationism have been gaining ground in the overall public opinion. Many felt that the Federation's inability to adequately protect Betazed from the Jem H'dar invasion was an indication of the low priority Betazed has within the Federation rubric."

Riker scowled. He and Deanna and most of the senior staff of the _Enterprise_ had risked their lives to liberate Betazed. Apparently their efforts were not enough to satisfy some of the populace.

"Do they have any idea how many other planets and solar systems were similarly invaded…and destroyed by the Jem H'dar?" Riker growled.

"That information is available to them, Captain," Data offered. "However, I do not think they find it relevant to their particular situation. The desire to withdraw from the Federation and reestablish Betazed as an isolated, insular world is growing in popularity. The _jzatar_ are very vocal in their desire to preserve the uniqueness of Betazed and in protecting the integrity of the Betazoid gene pool."

Riker looked sharply at Data.

"The integrity of the Betazoid gene pool? What does that mean?"

"If it's what I think it means…," began Beverly. But Data was ready with the answer.

"The _jzatar_ believe that mating and intermarriage with non-Betazoid humanoids has greatly diminished the unique telepathic ability of the Betazoid people. They fear that if this trend continues, no pure-blooded Betazoids will remain and their culture will be destroyed. As you are doubtlessly aware, only full Betazoids possess the ability of true telepathy. Those who are only part Betazoid lose some of that ability."

As the implications of Data's analysis sunk in, Will felt an anger surging in him he'd never experienced before. He was glad Deanna wasn't in the room; his emotions would have all but overwhelmed her.

"They're racial purists," said Beverly, grimly. "They want to kill Deanna and Kestra because they're not pure Betazoid."

Picard was shaking his head.

"I think there must be more to it than that, Doctor," he replied.

"I agree," interjected Data. "The death of two part-Betazoids hardly merits the cost obviously incurred in procuring a Romulan cloaking device and the harmonic anti-shield weapon on the black market."

Riker's voice was glacial.

"Those are _my_ two part-Betazoids, Data."

Data looked at him and blinked. Without his emotion chip the android found he often made inadvertently insensitive remarks, and made a note to create a subroutine that would scan future comments for their likelihood of causing emotional pain to his friends and fellow crew. Aloud he said:

"No offense was intended, Captain. I merely meant to point out that such an expenditure of resources must have been made with a greater goal in mind than merely the death of Counselor Troi and your daughter."

An arctic chill went through Riker at Data's words: "your daughter". He had heard the words before: Beverly had said them to him when she'd handed him Kestra. A couple of the nurses has said them as well. Perhaps even captain Picard. But hearing them from Data—it was as if he were hearing them for the first time. It both thrilled and terrified him. Thrilled, because of the overwhelming love he suddenly felt for the small helpless bundle sleeping in a bassinet by her mother's side. Terrified, because as responsible as he had been for the lives of the crew of the _Titan_, the responsibility of this one small life was nearly overwhelming. And at only minutes old, someone was already threatening to take that life. Well, thought Will. It would be over his dead body. His and many others of this so-call _jzatar_. Riker set his jaw.

"As far as I'm concerned, that's enough," he said coldly.

Over the comm, Laforge's voice broke the mood of the room.

"We're ready with the modifications to the shields, Captain. They shouldn't be able to take them down for a while. I've got the rest of engineering working on getting warp engines back on line. All we'll need is about 20 extra minutes."

"Very good, Commander," answered Picard. He checked his chrono. "It appears our time is up. Let's go see what they have to say, shall we?"

As they left the lounge, Riker felt Picard's hand on his arm, stopping him. Will looked at his former commanding officer and saw concern written all over his face.

"I trust you're ready for this, Will."

Riker found himself nodding.

"Don't worry, sir," he replied, truthfully. "I'm saving my anger for when I can do something about it."

Picard eyed him a bit warily, but seemed to accept his assurances. Will only hoped he could keep them.

"Captain, the ship is hailing us," announced Worf from the bridge. They strode purposefully to the center of the bridge.

"On screen," requested Picard. Once again three hooded figures shadowed on a darkened bridge appeared on the view screen. Their carefully modulated voices gave no hint of origin, but now Will knew: they were Betazoid. Deanna's own people. It angered him even further.

"Your time has expired. Beam the Betazoid half-breed and her offspring over to us now, and we will let you live."

Riker tensed noticeably. He felt Picard glance his way.

"I told you before, I will not turn over any Federation member or Starfleet officer over to thugs and murderers. You will stand down and surrender at once or face the consequences," Picard commanded them.

"It is you who will face the consequences, Captain Picard. Yes…we know who you are. We know you as well, Captain Riker. It is partly because of you and other inferior Starfleet intruders that such distasteful measures are necessary. Very well. We will not hesitate to destroy your ship to attain our goal. You have been warned."

With that the star field returned to the viewer.

"They are initiating the harmonic shield disruptor," announced Worf, scanning his sensors.

Data was already at the shields control, Wesley Crusher watching over his shoulder.

"Matching frequencies to compensate, Captain," Data informed them.

"How long can we keep this up, Mr. Crusher" the captain asked.

Wesley eyed the results of Data's efforts.

"They're good, Captain. But Data's better. I think I can keep at least one step ahead of them for a good 30 minutes. By then we will begin to run out of harmonic variables, so the warp engines had better be on line by then."

Picard hailed engineering.

"Your count down has begun, Commander LaForge. Make all due haste."

"Understood sir. LaForge out."

Data's fingers flew over the panel, making minute corrections to the shield harmonics each time the _jzatar_ vessel adapted their disruptor. Twice they nearly collapsed, as the random shifting of the harmonics coincided with the _jzatar_ disruption field, but Data quickly remodulated the shields and kept them intact.

Picard sat in his chair, warily watching the ship that was trying to destroy him. He resisted hounding Geordi for a status report on the engines, but finally he had to know.

"We're doing the final calibration now, Captain. You'll have warp drive in thirty seconds."

Picard tried not to count down, but nevertheless was fairly close to the mark when Mr. Hrata announced:

"Warp engines are back on-line, Captain."

"Set course and engage, Mr. Hrata. Warp six," instructed Picard, rising out of the seat. "I'm betting they won't follow us…"

Data had turned the shield controls over to Wesley and resumed his place in the first officer's chair.

The _Enterprise_ swung around and slipped into warp speed, leaving the _jzatar_ vessel far behind.

"The enemy vessel is not in pursuit, Captain," Worf reported, monitoring the long range sensors. "It would appear they have given up the chase."

"For now, Mr. Worf, for now. But I'll wager we will cross their paths again. I doubt if Starfleet will let the destruction of the _Titan_ go without a response." He turned and looked at Will. His friend looked like hell. Picard could only imagine the emotions of the man. Now that the ship was out of danger, though, he could only think of one place Will Riker should be.

"I think, Will, it's about time you checked in on your wife and daughter," Picard said softly. Riker looked up at him, surprised.

"Yes, Sir," he said, rising.

"And if you don't mind, I'd like to join you."

The closest thing to a smile Jean Luc had seen on Will's face since that morning appeared briefly.

"You're most welcome, Captain."

"Mr. Data, you have the bridge," said Picard and he and Riker walked toward the turbo lift. When the doors hissed open, Picard turned and paused momentarily. "You don't know how good it is to be able to say that, Mr. Data."

Data looked up, surprised.

"It is good to hear it, Captain. I am pleased to have you back on board, Sir."

Picard smiled.

"As am I, Commander. As am I."

Jean Luc followed Will into Deanna's private room in the maternity section of sickbay. Picard couldn't actually remember ever having been in this part of sickbay before. It was significantly smaller than the maternity area of the _Enterprise_ _D_, which had been built with the intention of having families on board for an extended period of time. The _Enterprise_ _E_ had not been built with this concept in mind, although, now that peace seemed at hand again in the Federation, Starfleet was approving more and more dual Starfleet family assignments, as Will and Deanna were proof of.

They found Beverly sitting next to Deanna's bed, holding the baby. She seemed caught unaware of their arrival and stood up hastily when they entered. The lights in the room were dim, and it was evident that Deanna was still asleep.

"How are they doing," Will asked in low voice.

Beverly smiled.

"They're both fine," she said. "Here. Someone wants to see her daddy."

She passed the small bundle into Will's arms. He seemed uncertain what to do with it at first, but after a few adjustments managed to find a comfortable position and relaxed. Jean Luc stepped over and looked down at the child, a smile coming to his face.

"She's beautiful, Will. Look at those eyes."

Will smiled at the little face in his arms.

"They're Deanna's eyes," he replied.

There was something in Will's voice…Jean Luc looked at him, feeling a slight twinge of envy. He remembered when Maribor was born…how absolutely in awe of her he'd been; at least he was in his memory, for even though he remembered holding her, he knew he really never did. Jean Luc found his throat tightening.

"Beverly," he managed finally, and indicated that they step out of the room. She nodded and followed.

"We really need Deanna now," he began, but Beverly was already shaking her head.

"I'm not waking her," she said in a voice that Jean Luc knew would broach no argument. Beverly glanced over her shoulder into the darkened room. She lowered her voice even more. "I didn't tell Will…but we nearly lost her. I won't have her disturbed until she's healed enough to deal with all of this. How do you think she's going to feel when she finds out that the _Titan_ was destroyed because these fanatics were after her?"

"I understand, Beverly, but she's going to have to deal with it sooner rather than later. They've let us go this time, but I do not think that is the last we will see of them. And unfortunately, Deanna is the key to all this. And Lwaxana. I will be contacting Admiral Janeway, shortly. They'll probably put Will on leave, until an official investigation is done. And we'll have to offload the crew of the _Titan_, probably at Starbase 209. But I won't be side-lined on this. I owe that much to Will and Deanna. I want full leeway to investigate this. Besides, the Federation cannot stand by and allow bigotry and prejudice to rot the inner workings of one of its most valued member planets."

"And it will let you keep an eye on Will at the same time," Beverly added, knowingly.

Picard nodded.

"He's worked too hard and too long to go off half-cocked and ruin his career."

"He won't leave them behind. You know that," she warned him. Picard turned and looked at Will Riker, standing in the shadows, one hand holding his sleeping wife's hand, the other wrapped protectively about his daughter.

"I know. And if I were him, I wouldn't either," he replied quietly.

Beverly stroked his arm; she seemed surprised by his response. His gaze met hers and their friendship and newly acknowledged love played in both their eyes.

"We'll just have to keep them safe," he told her, finally. "All of them."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Admiral Janeway's face was grim, upon hearing the news of the _Titan_. The usual inquiry would follow, she confirmed. However, she was willing to put Captain Riker on detached duty until such time as the Starfleet bureaucracy could move its many-cogged wheels. She assigned him as a consultant to the _Enterprise_.

"And if I could make one more request, Admiral," began Picard. Janeway waved her hand.

"Yes, yes. You can have Lt. Commander Crusher too. Anyone else I can get for you? Barclay? Ro Laren? How about Q himself, although I haven't heard much from him since he became a father."

Picard winced. Her pointed humor warned him he was close to pushing her too far.

"Lt. Commander Crusher will be sufficient, Admiral. Thank you."

Janeway's face leaned toward the screen.

"I don't have to tell you, Jean Luc. If this threat turns out to be real, it could be a blow to the Federation. We've only just begun to rebuild our credibility since the war. If we can't keep a long-time member like Betazed from falling into the hands of racist fanaticals, I can't begin to imagine the repercussions. Find out about these _jzatar_. Find out where they got their cloak…and that damnable harmonic shield inhibitor. Figure out where their power base is…these little cults don't just suddenly over-night come up with the resources to enable them destroy a Federation starship."

"I believe our search will begin in the Badlands, Admiral," Picard told her.

He thought he saw Janeway's face turn several shades paler.

"That's a dangerous place, Jean Luc. Watch your back. And your fore and aft. Even though the Array is destroyed, I wouldn't want to try to reach you in the Delta Quadrant for our next chat."

Jean Luc got her meaning all too well.

"Understood, Admiral," he replied. He expected to see the screen fade to the Starfleet insignia, but it appeared the admiral was not yet finished.

"By the way, Jean Luc…are congratulations in order or did things not go as planned?"

Picard sighed. It was difficult to remember that mere hours ago he and Beverly had had their simple wedding.

"We managed to get things accomplished just before all hell broke loose. However, let us just say, it was not quite by the book."

Janeway threw him a twisted smile.

"With your crew, Jean Luc, what is? And so the Badlands for a honeymoon. You do get to go to all the interesting places. Good luck, Captain. On all fronts."

"Thank you Admiral. Picard out."

As Picard sat back in his chair, contemplating his conversation with Janeway, the door to his quarters hissed open. It startled him a little. He was still not used to having someone come in unannounced. Even when that someone was Beverly.

She tossed a padd on the table and sank into the sofa, her head leaning back, and sighed.

"Quite a day," he said quietly. Beverly shut her eyes and shook her head. He realized she looked as exhausted as he felt. Dark circles had appeared beneath her eyes and her typically clean lab coat was as stained and ruined as the wedding dress it covered.

"How can you have a day you want to remember and forget at the same time," she asked ruefully. Jean Luc had no answer to give her. He had been musing on the same thing just before his conversation with Admiral Janeway and had come to no resolution on the matter. All he knew was that the happiest day of his life would always be wedded to one of the saddest.

"Have things quieted down in sickbay?" he asked instead.

"We're down to a about a dozen casualties from the _Titan_," Beverly replied. "But the staff is tripping over itself. I don't know what kind of scheduling Dr. Kranston came up with, but it sure doesn't make any sense to me. I've got to sit down and re-do the entire shift rotation before oh-six hundred tomorrow, or blood will be shed."

Jean Luc stood up and requested a cup of _raktajino_ from the replicator and brought it to her. Taking it gratefully she sipped it as he leaned against a nearby chair and crossed his arms.

"Janeway's approved our request to investigate the _jzatar_ incident. She's assigned Riker to the _Enterprise_ as a consultant. We'll drop the _Titan_ crew off at Starbase 209 and then proceed immediately to the Badlands."

Beverly looked up at him expectantly.

"And she approved Wesley staying on the _Enterprise_ as well," he added, sipping his own cup of tea.

A smile spread across Beverly's tired face.

"Thank you for requesting him."

"My pleasure."

Jean Luc slipped onto the sofa next to her and she laid her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"I think I'm starting to become empathic," she told him.

"How so?" he asked, discovering he enjoyed the warmth of her next to him and the weight of her head on his shoulder. Jean Luc had never considered himself a man who needed a great deal of physical contact, but her close presence was quite soothing.

"I think I know how Deanna and Will felt when we whisked them off to Romulus after their wedding instead of letting them go on their honeymoon to the Opal Sea."

"Hmm," agreed Jean Luc. "I felt bad for them, then. I feel worse for us now." He slipped his arm around her.

"May I ask you something," she said quietly.

"Go ahead," he replied. His eyes were closed and for the first time today, he was beginning to allow the fatigue to set in.

"When you saw Kestra Riker for the first time…what were you thinking?"

Jean Luc's eyes opened. He felt himself tense involuntarily. The memory returned in an instant. It was almost too private to share, but he realized that Beverly had suspected there was more to it than just courtesy admiration of Will Riker's new daughter. She deserved an answer.

"I remembered…," he began hesitantly. How to describe it? A memory of something that didn't really happen, yet felt, in his heart, as intensely as if it had? "I remembered when I lived the life of Kamin…and my daughter Maribor was born. I was terrified I would drop her at her naming ceremony."

Beverly was silent for a moment.

"I never knew Kamin had a daughter," she finally said, her voice even quieter. Jean Luc realized he had never spoken much of the life he experienced while connected to the Kataan probe. Not to Beverly; not even to Deanna. It had been…too personal.

"Yes. And a son too. Batai. He was named after a dear friend who died too young.

I…he…Kamin, that is…even had a grandson. Maribor's little boy…Kami."

"Tell me about…your wife," Beverly asked, when Jean Luc had gone silent. "What was she like?"

"Beverly…," he protested. "It wasn't real…I never actually…."

She raised her head off his shoulder and looked at him. He wasn't sure what he expected to see in her eyes, but what was there was neither jealousy nor anger.

"But you did. I know, Jean Luc, that those memories are just as real to you as any that you've physically lived through. I just want to understand them better…because I know they affected you deeply. You were changed in some profound way by that experience. After that…you were different."

Jean Luc considered this for a moment.

"You're right…I was. I never liked to talk about it. Not even to Deanna. It was somehow…too personal. But it made me realize things about myself that I'd never acknowledged before. I stopped for a while and took stock of my life, and I came to understand truly what I had given up to be where I was."

They sat there silent for a moment. Finally he knew he had to continue.

"Eline was beautiful. And kind. And infinitely patient with me. She waited years until I finally put the idea of a starship behind me and accepted my life as Kamin. She waited years more before I agreed to build a nursery. And she waited years after that while I tramped around the hills collecting soil samples, trying to figure out why the planet was dying, letting her dinners get cold…. When she died…."

He felt Beverly tense.

"When she died," he repeated. "I felt such a loss…such grief. The kind of grief I had never allowed Jean Luc Picard to feel. And yet, as painful as it was…I would not have wished it otherwise. It was pain born out of having loved, and having been loved. And I would not have missed having that love for anything."

"Do you think of her often?" wondered Beverly.

"Beverly, I…."

She faced him again.

"I'm not jealous, Jean Luc. Really," Beverly said with all sincerity. "I just wondered…."

Jean Luc thought about this.

"To be truthful…not really. Eline was Kamin's wife. Maribor and Batai were Kamin's children. Part of Kamin will always be with me, but that life only made me realize how much more there was in this life to live."

She stroked his tired face as if she realized what it had taken for him to tell her about Kamin and his family.

"Is that why you asked me to marry you?" she asked him.

His response was swift.

"I asked you to marry me because I love you. And I wish to spend the rest of my life with you."

Beverly smiled wearily.

"The Jean Luc I knew 30 years ago would never have said that…never even have thought it."

"Well, thank goodness we're capable of changing," he told her, bringing her closer to him. In her presence the agony of the day was slipping away.

"What other changes would Jean Luc Picard like to make in his life?" Her voice sounded uncharacteristically unsure. Jean Luc looked at her curiously.

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

Her blue eyes bored into him.

"I mean…you seemed rather taken with little Kestra Riker…and I wondered if…."

It took a few moments for Jean Luc to register what Beverly was saying.

"What? You mean…have a child? Is that…well, possible?"

Beverly looked at him meaningfully.

"Let's just say, our time with the B'aku had longer lasting effects on some of us than on others."

Jean Luc knew he looked stunned. At this point in his life…fatherhood?

"I had never considered…I had just assumed…."

"We don't have to make any decisions now," Beverly told him quickly. "It's just that…well, I thought it was something we needed to discuss."

Jean Luc's mind raced. Not even the _jzatar_ had caught him as off-guard as this.

"You've already raised a child," he said finally. "Is this something you'd want to do again?"

Beverly looked guilty.

"Well, I have to confess, when I held Kestra today, it stirred some feelings in me that I thought had retired years ago. Not that I'm all baby-struck—there's more to it than just sweet little fingers and toes. The months…no, make that years…without a good night sleep…the terrible twos…and threes…and sometimes fours…toilet training…reading the same story 500 nights in a row…. And of course, the knowledge that there's some piece of your heart that's wandering around outside of your body that you can never, ever completely protect, in spite of all the care and love and training you give."

Jean Luc smiled. The idea was settling with him now. He had a brief vision of himself holding a small child's hand, watching the stars slipstream by. But Beverly was right. The decision was monumental. And it didn't need to be made right now.

"Let's just get through this crisis, shall we, and then see what the future holds," he told her finally.

Beverly reached up and kissed him.

"That works for me."

"Sickbay to Dr. Crusher." The disembodied voice delved deep into her sleep and dragged her to consciousness. Why was Starfleet Medical paging her at this time of night?

A heartbeat later her memory also awakened.

"Crusher here," she stammered, reaching for the light at the side of the bed. It came on dimly.

"Doctor…you left instructions to be advised when Counselor Troi woke up," the unknown technician informed her.

"I'll be right there," Beverly replied wearily. It seemed as if she had just fallen asleep. Checking the chrono, she realized she had. It was, after all, her wedding night. With a sigh she slipped out from under Jean Luc's arm and reached for her robe. Years of captaincy brought him awake promptly.

"What is it?" he asked, looking more alert than she felt.

"Deanna's awake," she told him, pulling a clean uniform out of the drawer and putting it on. Seeing her blood-stained dress from the day before discarded on the floor, she picked it up and placed it in the recycler. It was not a memento of the day she wished to keep.

"I'm coming too," Picard said, reaching for his own uniform.

Beverly pulled on her boots and nodded.

"Fine. But give me a few moments alone with her first. This isn't going to be easy," Beverly cautioned him. She slipped on her com badge and hurried out the door.

Deanna's room was dimly lit when Beverly arrived. Will was still sleeping on the cot they had found for him when he had refused to return to his assigned quarters. Deanna sat up in bed, looking pale but beautiful as she gazed at the sleeping baby in her arms. In spite of every thing, Beverly smiled upon seeing her. At least one thing was right in the universe at the moment.

The women spoke in low voices so as not to wake Will.

"How do you feel?" Beverly asked, looking at the padd the nurse had handed her before she entered.

"Wonderful," Deanna said, with shining eyes, which then clouded over with a troubled look. "And horrible. I know what happened."

"What do you mean?" replied Beverly, trying to sound casual, not sure if Deanna really knew the full extent of what had happened, or was just responding to the loss of the _Titan_.

"I'm the reason they destroyed the _Titan_. I'm the reason," she choked back a quiet sob, "we lost so many crew."

Beverly placed her hand on her friend's arm to soothe her.

"Deanna…"

"You don't understand, Beverly! I felt them…I felt their anger and their hatred. And it was all focused on me! They came after me…and they were willing to destroy the _Titan_ just to destroy me!"

"How do you know this?" asked Picard, who had come quietly into the room behind Beverly.

"When I started to go into labor," Deanna explained. "The physical demands on my body required all my concentration. I couldn't block out the external emotions any more, and when I dropped my guard…that's when I felt them. They were telepathic… they had to be…for me to feel such…hatred…so strongly."

Picard was nodding..

"We believe they are a Betazoid cult…some type of splinter group…called the _jzatar_."

"The _jzatar_?" repeated Deanna, perplexed. "I've heard of them. But they were never what you'd consider dangerous. And certainly not powerful."

"Well, obviously something has changed that. Data has pulled what little information on them is in the Starfleet database, but frankly there isn't much. We were hoping you could tell us more."

Deanna was shaking her head.

"The person to ask would be my mother," she told him.

"We haven't been able to locate Lwaxana," Beverly said, with a concerned eye toward Picard.

"Your mother sent you a message which you received yesterday morning," Picard reminded Deanna.

"I remember. We were in a hurry for the wedding. I sent it to my personal mailbox and thought I'd read it later."

"We had it retransmitted from the last subspace relay station. With Will's permission we listened to it. Apparently your mother has been in hiding from this same group for several months. She only risked sending the message because she feared that you may become a target as well. She wanted to warn you to be careful."

Deanna closed her eyes and fought back her emotions.

"I should have known something was wrong. It would have taken something like this to keep Mother from hovering over me these past months." She looked affectionately at Will, still sleeping. "I thought perhaps Will had made some kind of bargain with her, to keep her out of my hair for a while," she said ruefully.

"Your mother was deliberately vague in her message," Picard continued. "It was obvious she feared the communiqué might be intercepted. Do you have any idea why the _jzatar_ would want to harm you and Kestra?"

Deanna's eyes widened and Beverly saw her muscles instinctively tighten around the sleeping child. Kestra's eyes flew open, but she only looked at her mother, not making a sound.

"What do you mean, harm Kestra?" Deanna demanded.

Beverly shot Picard a glare.

"They were after you, Deanna. You and Kestra." Riker's voice, husky with sleep caused everyone to turn. Will, eyes darkened by strain, hair mussed, still in the torn, smoky remnants his formal uniform, came toward them from the darkness around the edge of the room.

"Why?" Deanna's voice was louder now, and with a tinge of panic. "What do they want with Kestra?"

Riker, Picard and Beverly all exchanged glances.

"Will…" Deanna pleaded.

Picard found his voice could be the most even.

"Deanna…as best we understand the _jzatar_, they desire to 'purify' the Betazoid race by…eliminating anyone who isn't genetically, fully Betazoid. Because you're half Betazoid, and Kestra is one quarter…" he let his voice drift off, knowing she was capable of supplying the rest.

Abject horror spread over Deanna's face. She looked pleadingly up at Will.

"I swear, Deanna," he promised. "I won't let anyone harm either of you."

As much as Deanna looked as though she wanted to believe him, she'd been too long in space to know that such a promise could not be kept.

"Will…they took out an entire ship…your ship…just to get to me! I know these kinds of people…they're fanaticals. Nothing…and no one can stop them. They'll hunt us down, no matter where we hide!" Her voice was tinged with panic.

Picard looked grim.

"Not if we hunt them first," he told her. He looked up at Riker.

"As soon as we drop the _Titan_ crew off at Starbase 209, you are on detached duty to the _Enterprise_. There's more to this than just an attempt on Deanna's life. Admiral Janeway feels that the whole future of Betazed could be at stake. We have to follow this attack back to its source and find out who is behind this and why."

"I thought the why was pretty clear," Beverly interjected. But Picard shook his head.

"Fringe groups like this rarely have an impact on this scale, unless someone or something more powerful has injected a great deal of resources into them. Deanna…what precisely can you tell me about the Sacred Chalice of Rixx?"

Deanna looked startled.

"The Sacred Chalice of Rixx? Nothing much—it's just a moldy old clay pot with moss growing in it."

"Have you ever seen it?" Picard asked.

Deanna nodded.

"All my life. Mother used to display it on a pedestal surrounded by a force field, so it wouldn't get knocked over and break. Once a year she would bring it out for the Festival of Joining and I'd get to hold it. But the rest of the time…"

She stopped talking, as if her thoughts had dragged her into themselves.

"Deanna? What is it?" Will asked with concern.

"The Chalice, Will! It should have been used at our wedding on Betazed. Once a Betazoid woman is married, she is passed the Chalice and becomes it's holder. I completely forgot about it…Mother never even mentioned it."

"That's hard to believe…your mother's so…fond…of tradition," Riker said.

"What's more," Deanna continued, looking around to all three of them. "I don't even remember seeing it. Of course everything was rather…hurried, since we arrived later than anticipated…so maybe it was taken somewhere, with the intention of it being used at the ceremony but just forgotten. But I know it wasn't where it always has been, on that pedestal, surrounded by that force field. I'm sure of it," she added, as if the other's were about to ask of her certainty.

"Well," said Picard, tugging at his uniform. "Questions regarding the Chalice will have to wait until we locate the person best suited to answer them. We will do everything possible to locate your mother, Deanna. I believe she holds the key to this. But first we have to find out more about our enemy and their technology."

"We're going to the Badlands?" asked Riker, cautiously. Picard gave him a rueful glance.

"I'm afraid so, Will. At the moment, it's the only clue we have." Picard sighed, recalling his last foray into that tempest of anomalous space. He hated the thought of taking the _Enterprise_ and his crew in there. At best they might be rendered space junk by its volatile plasma storms. At worst they could face the same fate as _Voyager_ and spend the next seventy years trekking home from the Delta Quadrant. _Voyager_ may have destroyed the Array, but who knew what other alien gateways might be hidden in such a maelstrom.

He looked at the three faces watching him in the dim light of the recovery room and thought of what Admiral Janeway had said to him. These people were his family. The _Enterprise_ was his home. He could understand why Kathryn Janeway had voiced the wistful fantasy of having remained in the Delta Quadrant. When all was said and done, there were probably worse fates. He just hoped he wasn't about to steer the _Enterprise_ into one.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"I'm not an idiot Mr. Homn!" snapped Lwaxana Troi, adjusting her hat so the veil completely concealed her face. "But I must tell you…if I don't get some fresh air pretty soon, I am going to perish on recycled oxygen."

The towering majordomo and body guard gave her another scowling glare and pointed back toward the cool, dark interior of the seaside cottage.

"Well, what is the point of being on the ocean if one can't go see the ocean?" she retorted huffily. "Oh very well. But next time I'm being hunted across the galaxy, I'm taking along someone who's more reasonable."

She stepped away from the door and it slid shut with a slight snap, indicating that a security lock had slid into place. Pushing back the veil she removed the hat and tossed it on a nearby table before dropping herself onto a nearby sofa.

"Really, Mr. Homn," she said, all seriousness now. "I do believe I am going to go stark raving mad here. I simply cannot live like this for the rest of my life."

What Lwaxana did not say, although she acknowledged it in her thoughts, was that if it had not been for Mr. Homn, the rest of her life would have ended some time ago. He had somehow foiled the first plot on her life and packed her up and off of Betazed before she even really knew what was happening. He had kept them hopping from transport to transport to liner to planet until even she hardly knew where she was. And it had been like this for five months now. She was getting tired of it. She was getting tired of everything.

Lwaxana leaned back, closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Somewhere out there was Deanna. Deanna and…Lwaxana's eyes snapped back open. Of course! She should have realized it earlier. In addition to the gentle telepathic tug of her daughter's thoughts, there was a smaller, fainter tug nearby. I've even missed that, she thought bitterly, but quickly thrust the bitterness aside. No. This was a time to rejoice. Not only was Deanna still safe, still alive, but her…Lwaxana reached out again and then smiled with satisfaction…her granddaughter was safe too. At least for now. She would have to be sure they stayed that way.

That was, after all, why she had kept running. Kept leaving just the tiniest breadcrumb out there for the _jzatar_ to follow. If they kept following her, they would leave Deanna alone long enough for her to figure out some plan that would save her, save Deanna and save Betazed as well. She wasn't Heir of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and Holder of the Holy Rings for nothing, after all.

Lwaxana sighed again, tired of her own bluster. Only Mr. Homn knew the truth, knew the charade she put on…the façade she wore. Who, after all, would expect someone so flighty and focused on position and appearance and status to have more than half a brain in their ninnied little skull? Who would expect a seemingly inept telepath to hold one of the most powerful artifacts their planet had ever created? Who would expect the loud and boisterous former ambassador to the Federation to carry secrets so dangerous that she had never been able to even tell her own daughter? The answer was simple: no one. Which was why she had kept at it for so long, showing only Mr. Homn her true character.

It had pained her, certainly. Even Deanna knew only parts of the real Lwaxana Troi. Some of her carefully crafted veneer had slipped from time to time. She winced as she thought of the painful memory of her first daughter's death. That was part of the Lwaxana she kept carefully hidden. Deanna had delved deep into her metaconscious to ferret out that memory, but Lwaxana had worked very hard to keep her from learning any more. Deanna had come very close. Too close, in fact. And so Lwaxana had surrendered the memory of her daughter Kestra's death to keep her from seeking elsewhere.

The bringing out of that memory had, ironically, brought her closer to Deanna than she had ever been. Lwaxana had come temptingly close to telling her everything. But she knew her emotional and psychological resistance was down and she had not trusted her own judgment. Which was all for the best, she'd decided later. If she had told Deanna then, why they'd probably all be dead now, and the Chalice in the hands of those who had no business using it. No. No. It was best to keep playing the part of the befuddled, bombastic flamboyant Lwaxana Troi and let Deanna live her life.

Except now someone knew. And not only was her own life in jeopardy, but she feared Deanna's and…yes, of course…her granddaughter's life as well. She wondered if Deanna had received her warning, if she knew she was being hunted. It had been a risk to send a message subspace, but Mr. Homn had routed it along three different subspace relay coordinates, hopelessly mixing its point of origin to a factor of ten. If they found her it wouldn't be because of the message. But then, they had other means at their disposal.

Still, she couldn't get her mind off Deanna. Lwaxana reached out again, trying to get some sense of her daughter's frame of mind, but only felt a vague sort of exhaustion and sorrow in return. She shook her head. There was too much distance. Who knew where in the quadrant the _Titan_ was these days. With Will Riker in command…. The thought of Will brought a smile to her face. Her greatest hope had been that some day Deanna and Will would come to their senses about one another. She had done her best over the years to propel them into each other's arms…the ridiculous Rite of Bonding, with the Millers; selecting Will as her own mate when she was going through the Phase; badgering Deanna, prodding Will, even encouraging that ridiculous relationship with Mr. Woof…Worf, she corrected herself. All of it had been staged simply to try to get the two of them to see what everyone else already could. She shook her head. In the end it had simply come down to hormones; adolescent hormones brought on by their visit to the planet of the Bakuu. If she'd have known it would have been that simple, she'd have cooked up a batch of them herself and slipped it in their drinks. It would have saved her a lot of effort.

Her smile faded quickly. Effort. She was getting tired of expending a lot of it. She wanted to sit at her home on Betazed and bounce her granddaughter on her knee. She wanted to walk in her garden again and breathe the fresh air blowing down from Lake Cataria. She wanted to sleep in her own bed and eat at her own table and never have to look over her shoulder again unless it was to answer to a friendly hail from someone she knew.

She wanted to stop running for her life.

It was time to stop and take a stand.

"Mr. Homn," she announced, rising to her feet. "Pack our bags. I'm going home."

When Jean Luc returned to Sickbay, he was taken aback by the most unusual sound of muffled angry voices rising and falling from behind closed doors. He paused momentarily, assessing the situation, and finally slipped into Beverly's office where she was sitting at her desk, Kestra Riker asleep in one arm, her other hand freely entering data into the computer. Jean Luc gestured toward the sounds and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Oh they've been at it for some time," replied Beverly, also glancing at the closed door to Deanna's room. "We've been trying to stay discreetly out of earshot, but it hasn't been easy."

"Any idea who's winning?" he asked sitting down. Beverly shook her head. "No…but I'll lay odds there will be no Rikers left behind on Starbase 209 when the _Enterprise_ leaves dock. Although I must say I'm surprised. I was certain Will was the one who would not have wanted to leave them behind."

Jean Luc shook his head.

"That was before he learned we were heading for the Badlands. Weapons and terrorists he knows how to defend against. Plasma storms and alien portals are out of his control."

Kestra furrowed her little brow in her sleep and murmured fussy sounds.

"How's the newest member of the crew?" Picard asked, peering at the tiny bundle Beverly held. Beverly readjusted Kestra carefully, trying not to wake her.

"It's the oddest thing, Jean Luc. I mean, I know most Betazoid children don't come into their telepathic ability until around the age of eight or nine, although some are born telepathic. And technically, Kestra is only one-quarter Betazoid. But I swear, she is very attuned to the emotions of both Deanna and Will. There are times when I think she's even tuned into my thoughts. It's a little eerie, I must admit."

Jean Luc moved to the edge of Beverly's desk and gently touched the tiny hand that had slipped outside its swaddling.

"Are you saying there's more to Kestra than meets the eye?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," replied Beverly, with a shrug. "I just don't know enough about Betazoid children. Maybe I'm just imagining it." She looked up at him.

"You look tired," she noted.

His half-smile matched the gleam in his eyes.

"If you recall, neither of us got much sleep last night."

Beverly felt her face grow warm with the recollection. It had not been the wedding night either of them had anticipated. But with the loss of the _Titan_, the death of seventy-some of her crew and their own near annihilation at the hands of the _jzatar_, fear and grief and the recognition of the tenuousness of life had brought them together in a profound passion.The depth of that passion had taken her by surprise.

As Beverly looked at the man sitting in front of her, one finger captured by the reflexive grip of little Kestra Riker, she realized just how deep her feelings ran for the man who was now her husband. In one horrible rush of imagination, she knew what she would feel like if one errant photon torpedo struck the bridge, one diplomatic mission went awry, one Away Team failed to return, and he was gone. The realization of this drove the breath from her lungs, strictured her throat and brought stinging tears to her eyes. She fussed with Kestra's blanket, so Jean Luc would not see.

But he had been watching her. His hand was on her shoulder. His fingers tilted her chin until she had no choice but to look at him.

"Hey…Beverly. What is it?"

She shook her head, forcing a smile. Trying to breathe. Shaking off the premonition borne out of her own fear.

"Nothing," she managed at last. "I was just thinking…how very much I love you."

He leaned down and kissed her. Lightly and quickly to be sure, but she knew how much that meant. For Captain Picard to risk any of the crew catching him in a private and personal moment…. Beverly forgave him the furtive look around Sickbay to see if anyone had been watching.

"When Will is…ah…finished, would you tell him I would like to see him in my Ready Room," asked Jean Luc, extricating his finger from Kestra's fist.

Beverly nodded.

"I'll sweep up the pieces and have him sent to you," she replied, trying to sound normal, but when the sound of the Sickbay door swishing shut reached her, she sank back in her chair, drained.

They had talked about this. They had talked about it in the yacht on the way to their rendezvous with the _Titan_, but then it had mostly been about her. She had not wanted their relationship to compromise her duty. Jean Luc had promised. After all, he told her, he had always worried about her on Away Teams—had always been concerned for her safety. He wouldn't worry any less, he admitted, but he wouldn't interfere. As for him, he'd gotten her to promise not to hover; not to look at every complaint or exertion of his with her doctor's eye. To this Beverly had agreed, making a mental note to herself to be extra careful to keep her concerns about Irumodic Syndrome to herself. Jean Luc might believe that their future was in their own hands, she'd thought, but she knew enough about Q to understand that there was probably a grain of truth somewhere in what he had revealed.

She had been so concerned about keeping Jean Luc from clipping her wings, it had never occurred to Beverly that she should feel the least bit trepidatious about his penchant for going on away missions. She had been so focused on keeping him from developing Irumodic Syndrome that it had never crossed her mind that she should fear a more sudden, violent death for him. If that were to happen—if he were suddenly gone….

Beverly shivered. Kestra Riker opened her dark eyes and bored a stare right into Beverly's face for a moment or two before sighing and closing them again. Beverly hardly noticed.

She was dozens of years and hundreds of light years away—an intern on Delos IV at the end of a long, late shift with a difficult Attending who had put her through her paces more than once. She remembered glancing up, noting one of the hospital counselors and an unknown commander striding down the hall, but she had one last chart to finish before she could pick up Wesley from school and go home. She hadn't even realized they were standing next to her until she looked up again and saw them there. There was a look on their faces….

She remembered feeling weak in the knees, as though suddenly the force of gravity had doubled on the spot where she stood. She had grabbed the counter for support, not wanting to let them see…willing them to be there to ask her directions to somewhere else…someone else. But they had addressed her by her name—asked to speak with her somewhere in private. The shock had set in then; set in before they had even uttered Jack's name. She was vaguely aware of a small group gathering in her wake, sympathetic murmurings following her to one of the small conference rooms on the floor. The counselor had held her hand—it had been cold and sweaty, she recalled—the commander had stammered through the facts—an accident—the _Stargazer_—one casualty.

The facts didn't concern her; she only heard one thing. Jack was dead. Dead. She'd tried to process that, but she couldn't. It had to have been a mistake. Jack and Jean Luc were together. They never would have let anything happen to the other. They were always there to watch each other's backs. They were wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were wrong. Wrong.

But they weren't. Days later Jean Luc, injured in the same accident, brought Jack's body home. She'd insisted on seeing him. Like the doubting Thomas of old, she would not believe until her eyes had proven it to her. Jean Luc had gone with her to the morgue, advising her against it, but she wouldn't listen. She had to see Jack…to touch him…to know there was neither breath nor heartbeat left within.

It was then that part of her had died. It had died as surely as if it had been laid out on that cold aluminum table next to her husband. And as painful as Jack's death had been, equally as agonizing was the realization that she could never—would never give her heart and her mind and her body to someone as completely as she had to Jack. To do so would be to risk the pain of the loss all over again. She would rather cut off an arm or a leg before she would undergo that again.

Yet somehow, here she had gone and done it—with all limbs still attached. The ache in her chest as she realized this nearly took her breath away again. How had she let this happen, she chastised herself. How had she permitted herself to come to another relationship where those deepest of emotions, those innermost longings and desires, that transcendent kindredness were all awakened? Had she let herself forget? Forget what it was like to have all of that with another person and then, suddenly, violently, to have it all taken away in one horrible, incomprehensible instant?

Obviously, she told herself, she had. The memory of the pain had faded. The longings—the loneliness, they'd pushed the fear of it far away. Friendship had grown to affection; affection into love; love into passion. She felt as vulnerable as if someone had ripped her heart out of her body and placed it on the desk in front of her. So now, what to do?

There were only two options, she knew. She could back away—tell Jean Luc they'd made a mistake—leave the _Enterprise_ again and try to pick up the pieces of her life in San Francisco. There she would be safe—even if she did have to surrender the love she had at last permitted herself to feel. The other choice, of course, was to stay where she was, accept the risk, seize the moment and be willing to pay the price.

In her arms, Kestra Riker cooed contentedly, snuggled deeper into her blanket and closed her eyes. Beverly realized that no further arguing was coming from Deanna's room. The storm must have passed. Obviously Kestra thought so too. Looking at the baby girl, Beverly felt a certain peace come over herself as well. She sighed. Her own emotional storm was passing as well. There really was no choice, she realized. The feelings that had been reawakened within her were too strong to be denied. They were worth risking everything for. Jean Luc was worth risking everything for. Perhaps, thought Beverly, the universe won't demand from me so high a price a second time.

But she couldn't help but hear the taunting voice that came from deep within her own mind: _Don't be so sure_.

As the _Enterprise_ hovered on the outer expanse of the Badlands, Picard found himself uncharacteristically trepedatious. Even at this distance the roiling, churning clouds of incalculable plasma storms flashed like colored lights on smoke. Their sensors were already scrambled by the erratic, violent energies and just thinking of taking a ship into that volatile soup gave Jean Luc pause. Ships the size of the _Enterprise_ rarely ventured into such a mess. They were too big a target. The odds of being struck by one of the plasma storm discharges were ridiculously high; the odds of making it out of the Badlands undamaged, depressingly low. During the Dominion War Picard had piloted a small Bajoran ship through the Badlands; it was an experience he wasn't likely to forget. But then he had had Ro Laren with him—a Bajoran and former member of the Maquis who had a sixth sense when it came to navigating the place. He found himself wishing he had requested Ro, despite Admiral Janeway's sarcasm in the offer. But Ro had moved on with a life of her own, after being pardoned by Starfleet for her many past "errors in judgment".

Instead, he would have to rely upon the piloting skills of Wesley Crusher. Not a bad substitute, he'd decided. Wesley was an outstanding pilot, even without his Traveler abilities. If anyone could maneuver the _Cousteau_ through that maelstrom, Wesley could. Picard wasn't particularly keen on turning his personal craft over to anyone else, but the need for skill had outweighed his own need for ego. Besides, he rationalized, he should be grateful to be even going along. Data, now operating in full First Officer mode, had logged multiple objections to his leading of the away mission into the Badlands. Finally, Will had taken the android aside, explaining to him the futility of such efforts, and so Data had acquiesced…reluctantly.

Starfleet Intelligence had provided them with some very vague coordinates where they had a likelihood of finding the derelict ships that had been converted into a black market bazaar for just about anything illegal in the quadrant. Apparently, with enough latinum and a death wish, a person could buy practically anything, including, Picard hoped, information. He scratched at the beard that had been growing on his chin for a week now, ever since this plan was devised. Although he wasn't exactly the recruiting poster for Starfleet, his face was rather well known across the galaxy. Rather than have to muddle through impersonating some other humanoid species and being surgically altered, he'd opted for the beard instead. Ironic, he mused, that a man can still grow hair on his face when none will grow on his head. Beverly didn't think much of the addition--she'd called him "Machiavelli" at some point—but she did agree it was preferable to trying to turn him into an Andorian or a Ferengi.

Beverly hadn't said much about this mission. Their honeymoon had been turned into crew evacuations and mission-briefings, all of which she had endured without complaint. Instead, she had thrown herself back into her old job with gusto. Within two days time she had resolved the scheduling fiasco left by Dr. Kranston and reorganized sickbay back to her efficient standards. By all reports her staff was ecstatic to have her back and, despite the heavy work load, at the end of each shift she returned to their quarters energized. _Very _energized, he thought, a slight smile playing on the corner of his lips. He couldn't tell if they were making up for all the years they had denied themselves or making the most of the time they had ahead of them. Frankly, he didn't care. Perhaps the worst part of this away mission, he mused, wouldn't be the plasma storms or the unscrupulous traders they would encounter; it would be the nights he and Beverly would be apart.

The door to Picard's ready room chimed and he called for whomever was there to enter. He half-hoped it was Beverly. Instead, Will Riker stood there, his hair, beard and mustache dyed a shocking deep red. _If I look like Machiavelli_, thought Picard, _Will looks like Lucifer._

Wearing clothes that looked like they had been found in a trash bin outside a dobo bar, Will strode in. Picard wrinkled his nose. Perhaps the clothes _had_ been found outside a dobo bar. Will noted the captain's reaction and grinned.

"Sorry," he said. "I guess we requested a little too much realism from the replicator."

"If you're wearing that on board my yacht, Will, I'm going to have to have it quarantined and fumigated when we return."

Will's smile faded. He too was not keen about going into the Badlands. Picard knew part of it was the mere danger of the journey, but that a greater part of it was leaving Deanna and Kestra on the _Enterprise_ without him. Will had been placated somewhat when the decision had been made not to send the _Enterprise_ itself into the Badlands, but Picard couldn't tell which Will thought the worse choice…being with his family in the Badlands or leaving them on the edge, unprotected.

"I wanted to let you know that we'll be ready to depart in about fifteen minutes," Will told him.

"Is Mister Crusher ready?" Picard asked, standing.

"Quite. It's really uncanny what he can do. I'd never recognize him, if I didn't know better."

Wesley's ability to assume different appearances had been one of the abilities he had learned in his years with the Travelers. It was another reason Picard had thought him a useful member of the Away Team.

"Well, then I guess I'd better change. I'll meet you in Shuttle Bay Six." As Picard stepped onto the bridge, he pointed at Data.

"Mister Data—you have command of the _Enterprise_ until such time as I return. You are aware of your orders."

Data nodded.

"Aye, Sir. We are to remain here no longer than three standard days. We are not to enter the Badlands searching for you. If after three standard days you have not returned, we are to proceed directly to Betazed while advising Starfleet Command that you are missing in action."

"Very good, Mr. Data," said Picard approvingly. "And I want to make it very clear—you are not to take the _Enterprise_ into the Badlands."

"Understood, sir. I consider the safety of the ship and her crew to be of utmost importance. However," he added, in a tone that made Picard stop before entering the turbo lift. "I will request to lead the team Starfleet sends to search for you, once our mission to Betazed is complete."

"You just keep my ship in one piece, Commander," warned Picard. "I will want her that way when I return." And with that the turbo lift door shut before Data could see Picard smile.

His costume was laid out on the bed and it took him only a few moments to change. In appearance it wasn't much different from Will's, but at least it smelled better. He heard the corridor door open and felt Beverly watching him from the doorway of the bedroom. He hadn't realized how difficult this would be, to say good-bye to her, and so he was postponing it until the last possible moment by stuffing things into a small duffle bag.

When he looked up, she was leaning against the door jamb, her arms folded across her chest. He recognized the protective stance immediately. Apparently this wasn't any easier for her.

"If the coordinates are anywhere near accurate," he told her. "We should locate our destination within five or six hours. How lucky we get after that, however, I can't predict."

"I still think you need a war-weary Maquis captain with you," Beverly said quietly. She had briefly suggested she accompany the Away Team in this guise, but Jean Luc had vetoed the idea. The fewer people in their group, the greater the likelihood their cover story would fly. Besides. He remembered his previous encounter with Badlanders, and they hadn't been pleasant. Even though he knew Beverly could take care of herself, he didn't want anyone else with them. The risks were just too great.

"The fewer people I risk on this mission, the better," he replied, strapping on a hold-out phaser under his right pant leg and a small dagger under his left. He straightened up and turned to face her.

"Well, just don't make me say I told you so," was all she said in response. Picard's stomach knotted. He had never wanted to go on an away mission less in his life.

"Beverly…" he began. His hand reached out to touch her face. Her now moist eyes never left his. They kissed. Not the deep, passionate kisses of their love-making but cautiously, fearfully, as though the touching of their lips might somehow burn.

He left her standing there, staring at the now empty bedroom. Willing himself to place one foot in front of the other, he finally reached the door to the hall. It was only then that she spoke, without turning around.

"Just don't make us come looking for you," she warned. Picard smiled and replied under his breath:

"Yes, Sir!"


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The journey through the Badlands was as horrific as Picard remembered. He couldn't help but think again of his last journey into this cosmic tempest. They had been dodging Dominion ships that time, as well as trying to keep from being incinerated by the plasma bolts. He had admired Ro Laren's level-headedness and quick responses which had brought them safely to their destination. Watching Wesley, however, he decided Ro had met her match. Crusher was a deft pilot, and the now disguised captain's yacht twisted and spun through the plasma discharges like an eel through a kelp field. Nevertheless, Picard could not bring himself to relax, and he noticed that Will, sitting just behind him, seemed as tense and tightly wound as he.

As estimated, a little over five hours brought them to the coordinates Starfleet Intelligence had provided them. Coming to a full stop, they scanned the surrounding area as best they could, but found nothing but empty space.

"I've double-checked the coordinates, Captain," said Will. "This is where we're supposed to be."

Picard checked several views of the area around them and shook his head.

"Well, it may be that it's where we're supposed to be, but it's obviously not where the Bazaar is. Are you picking up anything on long range sensors, Mr. Crusher?"

Wesley frowned at his console.

"There's too much interference here, Captain. I wouldn't be able to tell there's anything out there until it's right on top of us."

"Like that?" asked Riker, pointing out the view screen. A shimmering appeared in the center of the nothingness and resolved into something that looked like a floating junkyard.

Wesley checked the readouts on his panel.

"The structure has shields and weapons, Sir. They are scanning us."

Picard and Riker exchanged glances.

"This is where your talents with the transponder code get evaluated, Mr. Crusher," Riker told him. Wesley grinned.

"Don't worry, Sirs. By now they're thinking we're a Berellian freighter."

A beep came from the communications console. They were being hailed.

"Audio only," Picard instructed. Wesley nodded and hit the appropriate keys.

"Unidentified Berellian vessel," came a nasally voice over the comm. "You have entered private space. Remove your vessel at once or face the consequences."

Riker arched an eyebrow at Picard.

"Friendly, aren't they?"

"Just keeping up appearances, Will. Mr. Crusher—I'm sorry, Tayvar," Picard corrected, using the name Wesley had selected for this operation. "Open a channel."

Using his most gravelly, world-weary voice, Picard answered the hail.

"This is Captain Rotan of the freighter _Du'kel_," he growled. "We've been kicked around this hell-hole for two days trying to locate this place and now you want us to leave? Not quite the hospitality we were led to believe we'd find here."

"And what kind of hospitality was that?" asked the voice, suspiciously.

"Oh, you know…a place to rest our plasma-weary heads, some decent food and drink…and maybe a place to leave some latinum behind, if we found something worthwhile." Picard waited, holding his breath, hoping his attitude was convincing enough. There was a long pause before the voice returned.

"Well, now. Could be we were wrong about you. I'd bet if you came on in and looked around you could maybe find a thing or two you were looking for. Many others have. And we always welcome paying customers. We'll send you coordinates for a docking bay," the voice informed them, sounding much more inviting than mere moments before. Picard quickly amended the instructions, however.

"We would request an umbilical link instead of a docking bay," he said. "Problems with the repulsers. Wouldn't want to scratch up your floors."

"No problem. We're transmitting coordinates now."

Wesley guided the yacht expertly to the designated docking arm and maneuvered the craft into position. There was a slight groan as the arm attached to the hatch and a sputtering hiss as the airlock cycled.

"Showtime, everyone," muttered Will, checking his holdout phaser as they made their way toward the exit.

Three airlocks later they emerged onto the station—or, very nearly emerged. Three large-muscled beings awaited them, blocking their entrance onto the floor itself. Only one was human. The other two were Nausicans, which stood a full head taller even than Will Riker. Riker recalled Picard's story about taking on two Nausicans in his youth and nearly losing his life as a result. Will could see why. There was no way he was going to tangle with this pair. He waited for Picard to make the offer.

"What is your business here?" asked the human man. Riker figured the guy hadn't missed many meals from the way his belly protruded in the front. Even Deanna at her most pregnant would have been slender compared to this guy. While he couldn't swear to it, he thought his voice was very like the one that had accosted them while they were still in flight.

"Our business is our own," growled Picard and made to push past the big man. The two Nausicans blocked his way.

"Not at the Bazaar," countered the human with a mirthless laugh. "You may think that, but an hour from now everyone here is gonna know what you're after. So you might as well sign up for our deluxe concierge service and save yourself a lot of trouble."

The word "concierge" came out so mutilated that Will had to cough to cover a laugh. Fortunately Picard hadn't been so amused. His face hardened even further and Will decided he was going to put on a good show.

"By 'sign up' I'm presuming you mean pay," Picard said coldly. The human grinned.

"Now you get my meaning," he replied, a gap showing between his upper teeth.

Picard turned slightly away from the man, as if in thought, but Will knew what was coming next. Picard's fist made a distinct crunch as it met the human's jaw. Will wasn't sure he wanted to check out the spacing of the man's teeth at the moment.

The Nausicans were on Picard in a second. Will and Wesley joined the fray a fraction of a second later. As he felt one of the Nausicans lift him off the ground Will realized that the three of them weren't going fare very well in this encounter. But then, that was the point. Even if they were pulverized, word would get around the Bazaar that three slightly crazy Berellians had dared to challenge the doorkeeper and his thugs. That, if nothing else, it would earn them some respect, especially when they started asking around for the items they were seeking.

Will's head met the floor and the star field he hadn't seen since entering the Badlands appeared momentarily in his vision. Giving his head a shake he focused long enough to see that Wesley was also down and Picard was in headlock by the taller of the two Nausicans. The captain's face was turning slightly purple. Will decided they had impressed them enough. Breathing hard, he held out his hand and signaled everyone to stop. The Nausican reluctantly loosened his grip on Picard, but did not let him go.

"Fine…" huffed Riker, rising on all fours and finding a nasty pain in his left side. He managed to stand while reaching under his soured rags to pull out a pouch. "We'll pay." He breathed heavily a few more times before continuing. "How much…?"

The human who Picard had punched was also dusting himself off. He looked more pleased than angry.

"On second thought, I'm thinking you may want our super deluxe service," he spat out some blood and then grinned at them again. Picard tried to pull away from his Nausican.

"Why you…."

Riker glared at him and snapped.

"Listen, Rotan. You may be captain of that junkyard of a ship, but I'm the one doing the deals here. And I say we pay them and get on our way. We have deadlines to meet." He turned back to the human. "I said, how much?"

The human held out his smudged and now bloody hand.

"Fifty bars of latinum," he said. "That'll buy you your docking fee, security on your ship and a list of the five best dealers in the Bazaar."

"That robbery!" shouted Picard, struggling once more in the Nausican's grasp. Will however, counted out the equivelent of fifty bars and placed them in the man's hand.

"That's the Bazaar," the man replied nonchalantly. He nodded at the Nausican, who released Picard. Placing the latinum in his pocket with one hand, his other reached into a different pocket and pulled out an isolinear chip, tossing it to Will.

"What's this?" he asked turning it over and inspecting it.

"As promised—the names of the five best dealer."

"But you don't even know what it is we're looking for," grunted Picard. The human shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. If you can't get it from one of these, it isn't there to be got."

"Worthless son-of-a…." muttered Picard under his breath. The human just laughed. Will could still hear him laughing as the Nausicans followed him down the corridor and disappeared.

"You all right?" he asked, turning to Wesley, who was sporting a bloody nose.

"Yes, Sir," he nodded, wiping the blood on his sleeve. Wesley hadn't had a chance to alter his appearance before encountering their extortionists and so he still had the look of a youthful human. Will realized just how youthful, despite the fact that Crusher was in his thirties. He wondered if he had ever looked so young.

"I hadn't realized you intended to be so…pugnacious," Will said to Picard with amusement. Picard was rubbing his neck where the Nausican had held him. He gave Riker a sheepish grin.

"Neither did I. I do seem to have issues when it comes to Nausicans, don't I?"

"Must be the way they smile," replied Riker. He took out his tricorder and inserted the isolinear chip, watching the data read-out on the screen.

"According to this," he told them. Our best sources are a 'Z'ag-du'n Andreyna', someone named 'Tenat be Terot', 'Jazel Kay', 'Mak'l Yarad' and…'Drang'." He hesitated and then shrugged. "Just 'Drang', I guess."

Wesley looked at the information over Riker's shoulder.

"They're spread out on at least three of the five levels. Maybe we should split up."

"No," said Picard hastily. "We stick to the original plan and stay together. Will—Gazal, I mean—you and I will do the shopping. 'Tayvor' here will blend into the crowd and watch our backs."

Riker nodded in agreement. They had agreed early on that three was the minimal complement for this mission, and Captain Picard had seemed determined to risk no more than that, by refusing to allow Beverly or Worf to join them. Wesley, by virtue of his unique talents, had been the most logical choice, one that Picard had agreed to reluctantly. Considering his own fear for his new family, Will couldn't help but wonder if the captain was driven by similar concerns. It probably would not have been obvious to someone who did not know Jean Luc Picard so well, but Will couldn't help but wonder if the plan, as it stood, was more to insure his and Picard's safety or Wesley's.

What the original platform for the Bazaar had been was impossible to tell. That it had been some derelict ship, rendered lifeless by the plasma storms, was a likely guess, Riker thought. But what its design or origin had been was long lost as bits and pieces of Badlands flotsam had been added to it over the years.

In basic design, as best he could tell, there were five main levels, attached to each other at different junctures and accessible by a series of lifts. No one lift accessed all five levels. Each level had its own labyrinth of off-shoots, like alleys on a city street. They were long and circuitous, often with branch-offs of their own, and Riker realized without the aid of the map provided on the isolinear chip they would have been hopelessly lost.

The merchants—if you could call them that, Riker thought—lined the walkways of each level in cubicles of varying sizes. Some had their goods on display—food sellers, for example, and those selling things Will would have regarded as trinkets. Others advertised their specialties. He saw everything from power converters to weapons to bootlegged copies of Klingon Opera. Then there were those merchants who advertised nothing, dangled no incentive outside their dark and mysterious spaces. Riker figured these to be the serious black-market dealers—the kind you got referred to and didn't just go knocking on the door of. More and more he was beginning to feel that the fifty bars of latinum had been well spent.

It was mid-afternoon in the Bazaar. Each level was cavernous, although a half-hearted attempt at providing a remote light source which might have mimicked a distant sun was evident. There was considerable activity along the walkways, which reminded Riker slightly of the Promenade on Deep Space Nine. Predominantly humanoid, there were a variety of other species perusing the black-market offerings as well. Riker spotted a pair of Antedeans in their long, seaweed-like robes. A few Gorn and some more Nausicans were mixed in with the crowd as were an Avian species Riker was not familiar with. In addition to the stalls and cubicles, they seemed to be frequenting the various other establishments that typically rose up tangential to such hubs of illegal commerce: cafes and restaurants, bars and gambling establishments, holosuites and pleasure cubicles where Riker spotted males and females from a variety of worlds offering their comforts to those who walked by. It was a seedy underworld, exactly as he had imagined it to be.

They had made their way from the lift exit on the fourth level to the main walkway and from there through any number of twists and turns, following the directions to their first dealer: Z'ag-d'un Andreyna. The further into the maze of walkways the fewer and fewer people they encountered until the way became practically deserted. When someone did scurry by, they kept their eyes to the ground and spoke not a word. Even on the main thoroughfares Riker had noticed that no one ever made direct eye contact with any of the other shoppers. He concluded that to do so was considered not only intrusive but perhaps even an outright challenge to the other person. He mentioned his observation to Picard who nodded, replying he had noticed the same behavior.

"It's as if they have a tacit understanding that each other is invisible," Picard remarked.

"You don't see me, I don't see you," replied Riker. "Convenient under interrogation." He glanced behind them to see if Wesley were still trailing them. It took Riker a moment to locate him, so nearly invisible he was in his surroundings.

Several minutes went by without encountering anyone else. Riker checked the map and saw they were close now to their destination. But his internal sensors were starting to send off alarms. Something about this didn't feel right.

"I don't like this," he said warily. "It's just too damn empty."

"If I'm not mistaken, we've been under surveillance for the past fifteen minutes or so," Picard told him quietly. "I believe we'll be challenged before we're allowed into the inner sanctum."

Riker's hand went reflexively to the phaser in the holster beneath his tunic. He regretted the motion instantly as whoever was watching them would immediately guess what was hidden there. There was a small hold-out phaser strapped to his upper arm and easily accessible through the flowing sleeves of his shirt. He hoped he still smelled bad enough to discourage anyone from a thorough search of his being.

Picard's words proved prophetic as a few moments later two large humanoids stepped out of the shadows and directly in their paths. Riker and Picard pulled up quickly and were nearly thrown off-balance.

"Not again," growled Picard, assuming his arrogant Berellian persona.

"This area is off-limits except to invited guests," came the subterranean voice of one of the guards.

"We're here to see Z'ag-du'n Andreyna," said Riker, inserting himself between Picard and the guards. "We were told he was the one to talk to regarding some items we're interesting in buying."

"This area is off-limits except to invited guests," the subterranean voice repeated itself.

Riker and Picard exchanged a look of understanding.

"Just how much does it cost to become an 'invited guest'?" asked Riker, his voice dripping with annoyance.

"Twenty bars of latinum," replied the second guard whose voice was only a deep basement.

"Twenty bars?" complained Riker. "Just to see if he has what we want? What if he doesn't have it—do we get our latinum back?"

The guards may have chortled. Riker wasn't sure. In any case, he knew the latinum would not be coming back to him. Well, it wasn't his anyway. Starfleet had procured it for them, but they wouldn't be happy to know that seventy bars of it had vanished before they were even able say a word.

Removing the pouch he had secured in his tunic, he emptied out its contents and handed it over to the guards. He had other pouches secured elsewhere in his costume, and he knew Picard and Wesley also carried some. They had thought it best to divide the latinum up, lest someone try to relieve them of their currency during their visit here. The guards counted out the latinum—twice. Riker found himself thinking that it was amazing they could count that high and nearly said as much; but he figured he'd leave the wise-cracks to Picard and try to play the straight man this time out.

Satisfied that the required number of latinum bars were there, the guards motioned them to walk ahead of them while they followed down what was now little more than an alleyway along windowless and doorless metal walls. There was a smell of old machinery, Riker noticed, and he wondered if perhaps this section hadn't once housed the engine room of an old ship.

The guards ordered them to stop about two-thirds of the way down the alley. Looking around Riker could see no door or portal of any kind. A moment of panic came over him. Were these really Andreyna's goons or had they been hoodwinked into turning over their latinum and were now about to be murdered in a never-used back alley? Obviously the two brain-trusts had not noticed Wesley and Riker hoped desperately that Crusher was sneaking up behind them even as he tried to keep his own breathing from becoming too ragged with fear.

One of the guards raised his arm and spoke something unintelligible into what Riker saw was an old-style wrist communicator. Immediately to his right, where moments ago a solid wall had seemingly been, a doorway appeared. The wall had been a mere holographic projection. Following the motions of the guards, Riker and Picard stepped inside.

The first thing Riker noticed was how much brighter the inside was than the outside. In the back passageways, away from the higher-domed center part of the fourth level, the pseudo sunshine was dim and distant, causing the alleys to be shadowy and foreboding. Andreyna, however, seemed to favor a brighter environment and there was plenty of wattage being pumped in from every corner of the high ceiling.

They made their way to the back part of a cavernous room, much of which was filled with large crates and containers. Riker tried not to be too obviously in his glances at the inventory, but he couldn't help but see that several things held familiar looking "Property of Starfleet" stamps, while others had writing in Klingon and even Romulan.

The back of the room, however, looked more like a command center than a warehouse. An entire bank of monitors lined the back wall while a console nearly the width of the room commanded the forward section. Displays of what Riker could see as flight paths, inventory lists, security monitors, biographical profiles, pre-recorded news feeds, and who knew what else, flashed, scrolled and chattered. In the midst of this, one seated individual rolled back and forth from display to display, a padd in his chubby hand, entering data at an astounding rate. Riker realized, however, that it all made sense as soon as he was close enough to see the individual more clearly. He was, after all, a Zackdorn.

The guards said nothing, but just stood there waiting with Riker and Picard, for the Zackdorn to notice them. He was obviously consumed in some type of analysis and either had not realized they were there or were choosing to ignore them for the moment. With a Zackdorn it was really hard to tell if they were inherently rude—as many were—or just preoccupied.

"Oh for god's sake, are we going to have to wait here all day?" complained Picard loudly. It made the Zackdorn look up.

"You've come to see me. You'll wait until I'm good and ready," he replied disdainfully.

"We paid good money to come see you," retorted Picard irritably. "You'll see us when _we're_ good and ready. And we're damned good and ready now!"

The Zackdorn looked up from his padd again, sizing Picard up. Finally he made a small grunting sound and tossed the padd onto the console. Standing he came over to face the two of them, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand.

"So. What is it you're looking for?" he asked forthrightly. "And it better be something good. Don't insult me by asking for some pathetic piece of technology you could trade in the back room of a pleasure club."

Picard gave Riker a nearly imperceptible nod.

"We need a cloaking device," he began. The Zackdorn wrinkled his already creased nose in disgust. "But not just any cloaking device…," Riker continued hurriedly. The Zackdorn, who had seemed about to dismiss them hesitated.

"I'm listening," he said, suspiciously.

"We want a Reaman cloaking device," Riker said with a smirk. The Zackdorn's eyes narrowed and he chewed on his lower lip.

"What else?"

"We're looking for something that could strip away shields, maybe something using inverse harmonic pulses."

The Zackdorn's eyes were mere slits now, his lower lip all but vanished. He said nothing for several moments, studying them, Riker presumed, although he couldn't tell exactly what Andreyna's eyes were doing. The Zackdorn made the grunting sound again and turned on his heels.

"Can't help you," he said curtly, picking up his padd and walking back to his wall of monitors.

Picard was looking at Riker, his eyebrow raised.

"Can't help us or won't help us?" Picard snarled.

The Zackdorn looked up.

"Does it matter?" he asked archly.

"It does," Riker answered him.

The Zackdorn entered some data on to the padd before looking up again.

"Fine, then. Can't. Those items are a little hot to handle these days. I wouldn't touch them even if I could. You won't locate many who will. Now. I presume you can find your way out."

Riker and Picard turned to leave, but Picard took a few steps and stopped.

"What about our twenty bars of latinum?" he complained gruffly. "This was hardly worth the price of admission."

The Zackdorn smiled for the first time in the whole encounter.

"There's one thing you need to learn about the Bazaar, gentlemen. There are no refunds." He turned back to the displays and Riker knew it was time leave, especially since the two guards had reappeared and were heading in their direction.

They had similar luck with Tenet be Terot, who's cubicle on Level Two was, to their relief, right on the main walkway. Tenet be Terot turned out to be an Andorian and Riker, upon meeting him, was momentarily relieved that neither he nor Picard had tried passing as Andorian on this mission. Andorian's had a way of rolling their letters when they spoke that was very distinctive, and in the presence of Tenet be Terot, they would have failed miserably.

Ostensibly the Andorian was a specialist in medical supplies. Riker couldn't help but wonder what Beverly would think to see the display of some very familiar and hard to requisition technology Tenet be Terot had in his shop. Unlike Andreyna, the Andorian had exquisite manners, smiling even as his locked the door and pulled down the shade after they'd asked about the Reaman cloak. His nerves, however, were quite evident by the way his antennae quivered, and he kept running his blue fingers through the thinning tuft of white hair atop his head.

"R-r-reaman cloaking device?" he purred anxiously. "The per-r-rfect cloak! Ah no! What I wouldn't give to be able to get my hands on one, thoug-g-gh!"

Riker asked about the harmonic shield disruptor and received a similar response: Terot had heard of it, certainly, but it was not in his line. He was most sorry, but would they please leave now, as he had to open his shop back up or else risk losing paying customers.

"At least that one didn't cost us anything," Riker sighed when he and Picard were back out on the walkway. The Level Two pseudo-sun was beginning to dip a little to an artificial horizon and anemic shadows fell long on the ground.

"Who's next?" asked Picard, studying the tricorder.

"Jazel Kay," read Riker. "Great. Up to Level Five."

Getting to Level Five required three different lifts, which were inconveniently located at opposite ends of their respective levels. The environmental controls seemed to be malfunctioning on Level Three and by the time they reached the lift to Level Four, Riker wasn't sure whether the stench of his outfit had seeped into his skin or if his own perspiration had further enhanced the intolerable odor of his apparel. All he knew was that when he stepped into the lift with a dozen other people he was aware that they all seemed to take a few steps back, away from him. When the door opened on Level Four, Riker had a large grin on his face as he stepped out of the lift.

"No offense, Captain," said a tired-looking old Mandorian standing next to him. "But you really reek."

Riker looked at the man, startled to be addressed as 'captain', only to realize that his critic was none other than Wesley. The wizened face gave him a grin and a wink and proceeded to lumber away from them, so he could watch them from afar.

"It's spooky how he does that," remarked Riker, shaking his head. Picard was smiling, almost proudly, Riker thought.

"He's most remarkable," Picard replied, watching the Mandorian disappear into the crowd. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Picard consulted the map.

"Looks like this one will be a hike too," commented Riker, following the directions with his finger. The cubicle marked "Jazel Kay" was a good half hour walk, if his estimates were correct.

It seemed to take longer than that, and when they did finally arrive at the designated location, they discovered the cubicle to be locked up tight with no one answering their persistent knocks.

"Great," Riker lamented. "That's a dead-end."

"For now," Picard agreed. "We'll come back later." He checked his chrono. "I have a feeling we're getting to the tail-end of the Bazaar's day. Let's stop at one of these places and have something to eat. Perhaps we can pick up a little information along with our food."

They trudged back to the main concourse of Level Three. Picard seemed to be right. Shop keepers were closing down their cubicles for the day and the crowds in the walkway were thinning. A large queue waited for the lifts. Wesley rejoined them, appearing as his normal self once more and they selected a likely looking café from which an enticing aroma was emanating.

Waiting for their meal to arrive, they hashed over their disappointing first few hours.

"Maybe we're not talking to the right people," Riker offered. "It could be that list was just a random collection of names, with no more clout or connections than any other dozen or so black-marketers here."

"I don't think so, Sir," Wesley told him. "I've been talking to people as I've been tailing you. Every time I ask where I'd go to get the most hard to find technology, these five names are the ones they tell me. Either it's a really big scam and everyone's in on it, or else these are the names to know.

Picard was nodding.

"I'm inclined to agree. Andreyna knew more than he was telling us. And the Andorian was too anxious for us to leave. We're getting close to an answer. One of these people is going to be able to tell us something, I'm certain of it."

The food came and was surprisingly good. Will actually found himself enjoying it. Meals over the past week had been nothing but the act of going through the motions for him. He had done it for Deanna's sake. A period of numbness had set in following the destruction of the _Titan_. He ate. He drank. He slept—but not much. He wrote letters of condolence to the families of his crew. He presided at the memorial service for them at Starbase 209. He attended the planning sessions for the trip to the Badlands. He replicated a new trombone and left it untouched in the corner of their guest quarters on the _Enterprise. _He replayed the destruction of his ship a thousand times in his mind and still could not find a way to have stopped what happened. It galled him.

The only thing that had even begun to raise him out of his own dark thoughts had been Kestra. When he held her or fed her or on those rare occasions dozed off with her tiny form curled up on his chest, he felt the most at peace. Her little life, her barely formed personality calmed his ragged soul as nothing else could. He loved Deanna. He loved her so much that the intensity of it was almost painful at times. But Kestra—Kestra had laid a claim to his heart he had never though possible, and he marveled every time he looked at her to think that she was his and Deanna's love incarnate. That alone made her the most precious being in the universe.

And that was why he was here. Not for Starfleet. Not for the Federation. Not even for Betazed, although Deanna loved her home planet dearly. He was here for his wife and his daughter, to guarantee, beyond any doubt, that no one would harm a hair on either of their heads. He would do whatever it took, no matter what it took.

Will realized he'd eaten nearly his entire meal without uttering another word. Picard was watching him, but had refrained from intruding into his contemplation, instead talking quietly with Wesley about his journeys as a Traveler. Jean Luc had been like a father to both of them, Will thought. A boy who had no father and a young man whose father might as well have been dead, for all the good he was. Will knew he'd been as big a disappointment to his father as his father had been to him, and he'd vowed long ago that he would never let Picard down in any way. He hoped circumstances on this mission wouldn't necessitate him breaking that vow.

The time came to pay for the meal and Riker realized the time for introspection was over. Picard was assuming his Rotan persona again. Will wished he had enjoyed his food more; it was probably the last time they would be allowed to eat here.

"How much do we have to pay for this?" Picard roared at the bill. Eyes turned their way.

"The prices were clearly stated on the menu," the waiter replied, not at all intimidated. You couldn't work in the Bazaar and be faint of heart, Riker decided.

"In what…" sarcasm was brittle in Picard's voice. "Klingonese?"

"Let's just pay and go," said Riker's Gazal. Picard's Rotan glared at him.

"Just pay and go. Oh sure. That's how you've been spending our latinum all day isn't it? Pay the 'docking' fee. Pay the 'security' fee. Pay the 'stinking Zackdorn for absolutely nothing' fee. At the rate you're spending latinum we won't even be able to AFFORD a damn Reaman cloaking device, even if this two-bit market could get their hands on one!"

Glancing about, Riker saw several whispered conversations going on around the café. Wesley had made himself scarce, blending back into the crowd, indistinguishable. Probably nobody would even realize he'd been sitting there eating with them, Will thought. But no one could miss Rotan, who'd let loose with his diatribe in a big, booming voice.

"You've had too much to drink," muttered Gazal, taking Rotan by the arm. Rotan jerked it away, irritably and staggered against the table. Gazal righted him, threw some payment on the table and guided the still ranting Rotan out into the street. The lift queue had dissipated and they stepped into an empty car and requested a Level One destination.

Before the door could close completely, however, an arm shot in, halting it. Riker's hand rested once more on his holstered phaser but the being who slid in between the narrow opening hardly seemed dangerous. It was a boy, barely older than ten earth years, Will guessed.

Rotan leaned against the wall of the lift his eyes ostensibly closed, but Will knew Picard had them open a crack, watching the boy. Likewise, the boy was watching Rotan.

"You're friend's got a big mouth," he said to Riker, still not taking his eyes off Picard.

"Yeah, well. It hasn't exactly been our day, you know?" Riker said trying to sound weary and achieving it quite convincingly.

"Well, I'd still try to keep him quiet. What you're looking for isn't exactly standard issue."

Riker eyed him.

"I thought that was the whole point of the Bazaar. If I wanted Standard Issue I'd go to a Federation depot."

The boy grinned.

"Yeah? Well. There's two things you've got to know about this place. It's who to ask and how to ask."

"Thanks, but I think we've got those things covered," Riker told him. The boy laughed this time.

"Not from where I sit," he said, chuckling. Riker rolled his eyes.

"And how much is it going to cost me to get the sage advice of a ten year old?"

The boy shrugged.

"I have no idea. I'm a Drell and I'm a hundred and nine. But if you'd like advice from me, it won't cost you anything."

Riker eyed him skeptically.

"That would be a first in this place," he quipped.

The Drell shrugged again.

"Hey. I have nothing to gain. Nothing to lose."

"He's a bloody philanthropist…" slurred Rotan from the caverns of the lift. "Helping us out from the goodness of his heart…."

The lift was nearing its destination. Riker knew he needed to get whatever the Drell was offering, useful or not.

"So—who do we ask, and how do we ask?" he pressed the Drell. The door was slowly opening.

"Who you ask is the Ice Princess," he said with a wink. "And how you ask…is nicely."

Before the door had slid open all the way, he had slipped out and was gone. By the time Riker and Picard were able to exit the lift, he had completely vanished.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Picard tossed and turned in his quarters on the yacht. Despite the dilemma they still faced in tracking down the _jzataran_ technology, his thoughts kept returning to Beverly. He missed her. Part of him wished he had permitted her to join them as she had suggested. Except for the encounter with the Nausicans, which he had provoked, the experience in the Bazaar had been a great deal less threatening than he had expected. He had been, perhaps, overly protective in not allowing her to come, something she had warned him about before they were married. He had promised not to interfere in her duties, although it had been a difficult promise to make. Once before he had fallen in love with someone under his command—Commander Neela Daren. Her near death while following his orders had shaken him to his core. It had made him wary of ever taking such a step again, and in part had been responsible for his hesitancy in pursuing Beverly's affections more assertively than he had.

But Beverly was not Neela. Medical officers were by definition more accustomed to jumping into the thick of things than were stellar cartographers. And Beverly was never one to lack initiative. He thought of the hundreds of missions they'd been on together. There was no one tougher than Beverly when it came down to outright survival. He had an image of her in his memory from their efforts to save the B'aku: dressed in her civilian clothes, a phaser rifle firmly anchored at her shoulder, taking out one of the S'ona henchmen with a single shot. Picard smiled. If she'd had the chance, he knew she probably would have tried to treat the soldier for the very wound she had inflicted. That was Beverly.

Still, it did not mean she was immune from the hundred risks a Starfleet officer was heir to. He had told her that he would continue to worry about her on missions; what he hadn't confessed, however, was how great that worry would be. If she ever found out he was actively limiting her exposure to risk—well, he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath. Her red hair was a sure indicator of how intense her temper could be, and he knew from their KessPrytt link that should she ever truly let loose her tongue, its effects would be quite devastating. At least he'd had a reasonable rationale, this time, for keeping her on the _Enterprise_. He decided to be grateful for small favors.

Thinking about her brought some comfort. It wasn't the same as feeling the warmth of her body against his or listening to the slow, even sound of her breathing next to him in the dark. He hoped that in the morning one of the other dealers on their list would be able to provide them with the information they needed and they could return to the _Enterprise_. He knew he would not be the only one glad to return. He had watched Will during their meal and could tell that the man was wrestling with a whole host of demons. Picard recalled those days following what he had thought was the destruction of the _Stargazer_. He remembered sleepless nights as he replayed the entire incident over and over, trying to find a flaw in his strategy, his command. There had been some modicum of comfort when the Starfleet court martial had cleared him of any wrong-doing. At least no one else could find fault with the actions he had taken. But even yet he wondered what he could have done differently that might have saved more lives.

Picard knew the demons Will Riker fought. He knew them all too well. And he also knew that no one could exorcise them except Will himself.

Somehow Picard finally drifted off to sleep. He dreamt he was on the _Enterprise_, taking a graveyard shift. Throughout the whole dream, which was filled with the minutiae of off-hours ship-keeping, a feeling of dread seem to hang over him, although he could discern no apparent reason. He was awakened by a summons from Will, to discover that it was 0600. In spite of the sleep, he did not feel rested, and as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the unsettled feeling remained. He knew it would be a long day.

Picard half-expected to find the Nausican pair awaiting them at the airlock again, demanding more latinum, but the corridor outside their airlock seemed no more or less than normal as they emerged.

Over breakfast they had discussed how best to locate the "Ice Princess" the Drell had told them about. They had gone back and forth as to how reliable the information had been, considering it had come at no cost. Will was of the opinion that you got what you paid for, given that profit was the driving force behind the Bazaar. Under normal circumstances Picard was inclined to agree, however, there had been something about the Drell that seemed trustworthy. Perhaps it was his forthrightness. Or maybe, thought Picard, I'm just allowing myself to be taken in by his child-like appearance. Still, he believed that the lead was worthy of following up. Wesley, caught between two captains, had wisely suggested that they merely add the Ice Princess to their list and attempt to find her in the process of seeking out the others. It seemed a prudent action, Picard had to admit, and Will had concurred. They agreed to back-track to their last stop of the day before and see if they could find Jazel Kay.

The artificial sun was low on the Fifth Level as they poured off the lift with a crowd of other early morning dealers and buyers. Physically fit as he was, Picard wished there were some sort of transport that would take them to the other end of this level. It wasn't the walking he minded so much, although he would have sworn the gravity settings were at a higher level in the Bazaar than he was used to. It was, instead, the waste of time the walk represented. It had taken them a half-hour the evening before to get to where Jazel Kay did business, and it was getting to the point where a half-hour was starting to eat away at their timetable. Picard had no doubt but that at exactly seventy-two hours from the point of the yacht's departure into the Badlands, Data would take the _Enterprise_ and proceed to Betazed as ordered. After all, that was what he had told his first officer to do. It was just that Picard had every intention of being on his ship when it left, and not still slogging through the Bazaar for information that no one would give.

Jazel Kay was in. Picard drew up short upon seeing her, recognizing her as a Bajoran. Probably a Maquis, he concluded. Many of the revolutionary Bajorans had hidden in the Badlands using the plasma storms to mask their ships as they regrouped and attacked the various Cardassian holdings along the Federation-Cardassian border. With the fall of Cardassia and the end of the Dominion War, many had settled down, putting their terrorist ways behind them. Some, like Will Riker's duplicate, Tom Riker, still sat in penal colonies, awaiting the resolution of their cases. Others, it seemed, had continued to do what they did best: keep under the scope of the authorities and make a living as best they could.

That seemed to be Jazel Kay. Her cubicle was rather sparse, compared with the impressive display of medical technology Tenet be Terot had or the vast warehouse of Z'ag-du'n Andreyna. Glancing around Picard could not tell precisely what Jazel's area of specialty was. There were a few computer components set haphazardly about, but by the look of them, not to mention the layer of dust over them, they seemed to be more artifact than inventory. Then there were the odd bits of jewelry—necklaces, bracelets, ear adornments—that seemed incongruous in this setting. There was not a lot to be learned about the woman from her surroundings.

Realizing he needed to maintain his role as the combative Berellian, Picard looked around more obviously, fixing what he hoped was a skeptical sneer on his face.

"We were referred to you…by a friend," Riker was beginning. The woman laughed.

"Let me guess. I was one of five names you were given who could get you anything you wanted," she replied. Riker looked sheepish.

"Yeah…something like that."

The Bajoran fixed her gaze on Picard who was trying to act annoyed. There was some measure of truth to his emotion. Perhaps they had been sent on a wild goose chase by the human with the Nausican bodyguards.

"I know you," she said, unexpectedly, stepping closer to Picard. He tried not to flinch. Perhaps his bad manners could put her off whatever trail she was following.

"Like hell you do," he snarled, leveling her a stare. "But I probably know you. The Cardassians had bounty out on all you Maquis scum. I caught my share, but obviously not enough."

The intended insult had had its effect. She backed off studying him, not bothering to hide the look of disgust that filled her face. Picard realized his rebuff may have cost them important information, but he felt in this case it was worth it. Whatever else happened, they couldn't be recognized as Starfleet. They would never leave here alive.

"I don't think I can help you," said Jazel coldly, turning away from Riker.

"But we haven't even told you what we're looking for," he replied, coaxingly. His tone had no effect on her.

"I don't think that really matters. I can't help you."

Picard figured it was time to step in.

"You mean you won't help us. Come on, Gazal. Let's not waste our time here. We can't do anything with typical Maquis rancor—we'll find what we want elsewhere."

He saw the fire flash in Jazel's eyes as a Bajoran curse flew from her lips.

"I'll have you know…" she began, but Rotan waved her off.

"Save it for someone who cares. Look—we have latinum to spend and not a lot of time to spend it in. If we can't do business with you, we'll do it elsewhere." He turned to exit the cubicle.

"What are you looking for?" The words came out behind gritted teeth, but at least they came out. Picard turned to Riker who stepped over to Jazel and told her their needs in a low voice.

"You've got to be kidding," she replied. Riker shook his head.

Jazel was silent for a moment.

"Given enough time, I could probably come up with something for you," she said finally. "But it would take weeks—and it's not a sure thing. I have connections, but not for this. It would take a lot of dealing. And a lot of latinum."

Riker looked at Picard. As bad as it was, this was the best lead they had gotten. Picard left it to Riker to push it as far as he could. He was surprised, therefore, when Will took a different tact.

"Is there someone else with better connections we should be talking to?" he asked her forthrightly. "Not to cut you out of the deal—but we're sort of in a hurry."

She waved her hand dismissively.

"I'm really not that interested. By the time I got my cut anyway, it would be more trouble than its worth." She contemplated Riker, as if trying to see beyond the flaming red hair. Finally she merely shrugged. "If you want the final word on what you can get and how soon, there's only one person to go to here at the Bazaar."

"The Ice Princess," Riker provided. Jazel hardly looked surprised.

"You've heard of her," she commented.

"Just a name. Do you know where we can find her?" Riker asked. Jazel smiled.

"Let's just say, she finds you. By the time you get to the end of your list, you'll probably hear from her." Her eyes turned toward Rotan and Picard saw them instantly harden.

"And I'd watch my mouth around the Princess," she warned. "Being bullied is not her thing."

Picard's frustration continued to mount. Aside from confirming that the Ice Princess was the dealer they needed to contact, the entire morning had slipped away without any further success. They had next sought out Mak'l Yarad, who proved to be a weapons dealer, specializing in an alarming array of Klingon and Romulan disruptors, Federation phasers and other hand weapons whose deadliness Picard could only guess at. Yarad, who was human, claimed they were mostly salvage from battle sites of the Dominion War, but Picard recognized several more recent models which had probably been only designs on the drawing board when the war was concluded.

Yarad had been of absolutely no help, even when Rotan's temper got the better of him and had put him in a headlock against the wall of his own cubicle. He had heard of the Ice Princess—who hadn't, he said—but she dealt with stuff that was out of his league. His specialty was merely hand weapons, he assured them. Picard didn't pursue the matter further, despite the fact that a glance at an inventory padd had revealed a manifest for an assortment of heavy armaments that could only be used by a space vessel of some sort.

"That leaves this 'Drang'," Riker said, consulting the tricorder outside of the Yarad's cube. "Third Level, Quadrant Six."

Picard squinted up and down the walkway. It was moderately crowded as the overhead light approached midday. He was looking for Wesley and finally spotted an aged Mandorian about a hundred meters away, contemplating the delicacies of a pastry vendor. Giving a shake of his head to indicate they'd had no luck, Picard took the tricorder from Will and studied it further.

"This looks like an eating establishment of some kind," he noted. "Just enough off the beaten path to be interesting."

"Maybe the Ice Princess will catch up with us there," suggested Riker, rubbing his neck. Picard noticed the dark circles under his friend's eyes. It seemed he wasn't the only one who did not get much sleep the previous night.

By the time they got to Drang's bar, nearly another hour had passed. Picard had calculated that in order to reach the _Enterprise_ in time, they would have to leave the Bazaar no later than 0100 the next morning. That gave them less than twelve hours to get what they came for. Picard had to admit, his optimism was waning.

Their destination was a place called _The Happy Prophet_. It was better turned out than most of the other bars Picard had seen in the place. It covered a fair amount of space and looked as if someone had actually given some thought to its layout and design. He and Will sat down and ordered a drink. When it came it was decent synthehol, Picard noted. Now they just needed to find this Drang.

Wesley had followed them into the bar. After a quick scan of the patrons, he had subtly shifted his appearance until he resembled everyone in the bar, yet no one, all at the same time. It still amazed Picard that Wes had developed the incredible skills he had. He felt a rush of pride and affection, but also concern. He had, after all, brought Wesley along on this mission. And although he was the perfect choice, he realized Beverly probably hadn't been too happy with the arrangement. His mind drifted back to his conversation with Beverly concerning children. While he couldn't actually put himself in her shoes, he could imagine what it would be like to send one's child—even one's grown child—off to face danger. At least when Wesley was aboard the _Titan_ she hadn't had to know every mission, every threat. But with him temporarily assigned to the _Enterprise_, she had the opportunity to worry over every step. Obviously having her son with them was a double-edged sword for her. Picard vowed he would make it as blunt a weapon as possible.

Riker bent low over his drink and mumbled:

"Looks like we've got company."

Sure enough, seconds later a skinny Ferengi with what looked like a spider web network of varicose veins across his prominent nose, had sidled up to them and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Gentlemen," he oozed in typical sycophantic Ferengi mode. "If I didn't know better, you seem like you're just sitting here waiting for plasma bolt to hit you. You must cheer up. After all, my establishment is called _The Happy Prophet_!"

Picard saw Riker glance around skeptically. The ambiance of the bar was anything but happy. Riker looked up the Ferengi.

"I'd consider a name change if I were you."

The Ferengi waved his hand, dismissing the jibe.

"These aren't my regulars. They don't start showing up until the Bazaar closes. These here now are individuals who can't find what they're looking for out there. Makes them glum."

"Then I guess we fit in" snarled Picard, swilling down his drink and banging the glass on the table. "Because we sure couldn't find what we were looking for in his hell-hole."

He made as to rise, and Riker with him, but the Ferengi's surprisingly strong hands forced them back to their seats.

"Gentlemen…gentlemen!" he oozed again. "Let's not depart in haste and repent in leisure, shall we? Even for the disappointed sometimes there is…reversal."

Picard and Riker exchanged a glance. Riker looked at the Ferengi through narrowed eyes. In the darkness his red hair seemed to take on a phosphorescence.

"You sound like a man who might have…some connections," he mused. The Ferengi's eyes lit up like binary stars.

"Possibly. Possibly. I've been known to have a few auxiliary avenues of commerce." He pulled over a stool and squeezed himself in between Riker and Picard.

"Now. Why don't you give me an idea of what it is exactly you're looking for, and I'll see if I can access some of those avenues for you."

"And exactly how much is this going to cost us, to have you 'access those avenues'," rumbled Picard, snidely.

"Oh, just my usual and customary finders fee of, oh, say, ten percent of the purchase price."

"Ten percent!" roared Picard. The other patrons in the bar turned in their direction. The Ferengi seemed to slump a little in his seat.

"Well, I mean five percent…for items at the more expensive end of the line, let's say," he amended quickly.

"And what if we don't buy anything?" asked Riker. The Ferengi looked aghast.

"Why bother to come at all if you don't buy?" he asked, incredulously. But seeing Riker's set face and Picard's glower, the Ferengi gulped. "On the other hand, I suppose I'd be happy with just a straight fee of, say, fifty bars of gold-pressed latinum. For that I make the introductions and walk away. You're on your own after that."

Picard gave a slight nod to Riker and the Ferengi, catching this, smiled broadly.

"Wonderful! Wonderful! We'll consider it a deal then! Now…just what is it you gentlemen are having difficulty finding?"

Riker leaned in close to the Ferengi and whispered:

"A Reaman cloaking device."

"What? For that Berellian hunk of junk you flew in here?" exclaimed the Ferengi.

Riker glared at him.

"Who says that's the only ship we have? Maybe it was the only one we wanted to risk flying into the Badlands."

The Ferengi's eyes widened and he started to rise from his stool.

"On second thought, gentlemen…" But this time Riker and Picard pushed him back down. The Ferengi swallowed hard.

"We also want a device that can drain shields. Maybe using some inverted harmonic waves."

The Ferengi actually paled.

"Boy. You don't want much, do you?" he asked with a nervous laugh. But as he looked from Picard to Riker and back to Picard again, he realized neither of them were laughing.

"Whew," he blew out some air, as if he might be on the verge of collapsing. "Okay. Fine. Well, I guess you're in luck, because there's only one person here who even remotely deals with that kind of technology. The Ice Princess."

"The Ice Princess?" repeated Picard, trying to sound suspicious.

The Ferengi nodded.

"But don't be looking for any sweet deals from her. She's as cutthroat as she comes."

"So. How do we get in touch with this, Ice Princess," asked Riker in a low voice. The Ferengi scratched his nose.

"I'll need a couple of hours. There's a casino—_The Sisters_—one level up. Meet me there in two hours—just ask for Drang. I'll make the arrangements. "

Picard and Riker both nodded and rose to go. This time the Ferengi latched on to both of their sleeves.

"My, um, fee, gentlemen?" he asked hopefully. Both Picard and Riker shook off the grasp like an unwanted beetle.

"When we meet the Ice Princess, you'll get your fee," Picard told him gruffly.

"How about half now…half later?" wheedled the Ferengi, but he cowered under their dual glares and let them walk away without bargaining further.

Shortly before the appointed time, Picard and Riker entered the casino called _The Sisters_. The place was crowded now that the Bazaar had closed for the day. Any number of gaming tables were scattered throughout the various rooms, including, Picard noted, poker. He recalled Will's penchant for a good poker game and wondered if he'd kept playing while captain of the _Titan_. As First Officer, Will had always had a good rapport with the crew under him. Picard had to believe that much of that had carried over with him to his command of the _Titan_. But he also knew that it was necessary for a captain to keep his distance at times. The trick was learning the right balance. He himself had achieved it with the original crew of the _Enterprise_. However, he had yet to find it with his current staff.

They mentioned Drang's name to the maitre'd and were shown to a table that was exceedingly dark and remote. Picard noticed that from where they sat they could see into each of the gambling rooms as well as main door. It was the perfect vantage point, and he couldn't help but think that it had not been chosen at random.

Picard had tried to single out Wesley in the crowd but had failed. It gave him some comfort to know Beverly's son was close by. They would watch out for each other, he decided.

The time came and went. No Drang appeared.

Riker was getting fidgety, Picard could tell, and said as much. Will nodded.

"Too much of this doesn't smell right," he admitted.

Picard agreed, but said nothing.

Just as he was thinking they'd been stood up, Picard spotted the thin Ferengi enter the casino and cast his beady dark eyes through the glittering lights. When they alighted on the two incognito captains, he waved slightly and hurried over to them.

"She's coming!" he told them excitedly. "Not more than a minute behind me. I'll just collect my fee and…"

Picard had grabbed him by the rather ratty cravat he wore and hauled him down close to his face.

"First the introductions, then your fee," he explained. The Ferengi's eyes bulged and he managed to squeak:

"Okay! Okay. Whatever you say!" When Picard let him go Drang straightened his clothes in an effort to regain some dignity.

Picard noticed her first. The woman strode into the casino with the air of someone who knew how to take command of any situation. She was a natural leader, he could tell. A hooded cloak hid her face, but she was not wearing it out of fear. It was a matter of advantage—sizing up her adversaries before they could size up her. Picard admired her strategy, even if he loathed her business.

The woman advanced upon them without hesitation. Her hidden gaze rested on the Ferengi, who seemed to shrink further into himself.

"These are the gentlemen I told you about," he babbled. The woman jerked her head toward the door.

"Get whatever money you were promised and leave us," she told him brusquely. The Ferengi looked expectantly at Riker, who handed him fifty bars of latinum. Drang quickly counted it, grinned in delight and scurried toward the door, vanishing. The woman took the remaining empty seat at the table and sat with her back to the solid wall behind her. When the others were seated, she waved away an approaching waiter and placed her hands on the table, interlacing her fingers.

"I understand you're looking for something most difficult to procure," she said simply.

"You hear correctly," replied Picard. There was something about the woman's voice….

"And what makes you think that what you're looking for is here?" she asked.

Riker leaned in closer.

"Because we know someone who acquired similar devices from this region," he told her.

The woman seemed to contemplate this for a few moments. Picard thought he heard a subtle change in her breathing, as if she were struggling with some strong emotion. But when she spoke, her voice was without any hint of it.

"You were mis-informed," she replied in a voice as cold as an Alaskan glacier. She stood up as if to leave, but Picard would not be put off so easily.

"Our information is accurate," he said, sardonically. "But perhaps something so unique is…out of your league."

The woman sat back down abruptly. The voice that came from the hood even icier than before.

"Don't think you can pique my anger by suggesting my inadequacies, Captain," she snapped. With vigor she reached up and slid back her hood. "You made them quite known to me once. I don't need a refresher course."

Picard and Riker both drew in a quick breath. It was an older face than they remembered, but a face they recognized, nevertheless. It was a face they had all trusted but which had betrayed them. It was Ishara Yar.

"Ishara!" exclaimed Riker. The woman turned to him.

"Yes, Commander. Or would it be Captain now? I have such a difficult time keeping up with Starfleet promotions."

Picard's mind whirled. Obviously their cover was blown. On the other hand, Ishara might be able to provide them with the information they needed, although from the anger blazing in the woman's eyes, at the moment he doubted it.

"This is the last place in the galaxy I would have expected to find you," Picard said finally. She turned her piercing gaze on him.

"Oh is it, really?" she asked bitingly. "Precisely where did you think I would be? Back on Turkana IV? Still with the cadre? Still engaging in acts of terror against our pathetic enemies?" She leaned back and gave a slight, bitter laugh.

"You know, that's probably where I should be, but instead I'm here. And I have you to thank for it."

Picard looked startled.

"Me?"

Ishara plucked at a napkin on the table.

"Yes, Captain. You and your noble crew of the _Enterprise_. Especially that android—Data. You were so damned nice to me. So damned…trusting. How do you think I felt, after I betrayed you all? Oh I went back to the cadre, but I couldn't stop thinking about you and your ship. And about my sister. Growing up, the cadre was all I had after she left. But you showed me that Tasha had found a better life. A more worthwhile life. And even if she died, she died doing something noble and honorable." Ishara sighed. "After a while, I couldn't do it anymore. One day a supply ship got off-course and docked at Turkana IV for repairs. I begged, borrowed and practically stole my way onto that ship. It's captain…" she paused. "Well, let's just say he wasn't as honorable a man as you, Captain Picard. But I really didn't care. I was gone. I was away. And there was only one place I wanted to go."

"Earth," supplied Picard, knowingly. She shot him a glance.

"Precisely," she replied. "Earth. You see, I figured, if my sister could join Starfleet, then why not me? Then I could spend the rest of my life being as noble and honorable as she had been…I could…make her proud of me." Ishara paused, staring at the napkin in her hand.

"What happened?" asked Riker. A thin smile played on Ishara's lips.

"They rejected me. Wouldn't even let me fill out the paperwork. It seems they already had a file on me. It said I was devious and untrustworthy and would go to any length to achieve an end, regardless of the means. Certainly not Starfleet material."

"Our report," nodded Picard, knowingly.

"Yes, your report!" Ishara lashed out. "I didn't even have a chance! Not with the words of the irrefutable Captain Jean Luc Picard branding me a traitor of the first order!"

Picard glanced at Riker who grimaced. It was becoming increasingly evident that Ishara was not going to help them in any way. The best they could hope for now was to leave the Bazaar in one piece.

"So, how did that land you out here," asked Riker finally.

"Just lucky, I guess," replied Ishara, sarcastically. "I kicked around the quadrant for awhile, making the most of my…talents. Even hung out with the Maquis for a few years. It was so delightfully anti-Starfleet. During the war it seemed safer to stay here. We thought we'd wait and see if the Federation survived or if we were all doomed to snort ketrecel white the rest of our lives. A small business grew. It seems I have a knack for this kind of work. Finally, the Ice Princess was born. Procurer of the unprocurable."

"Which brings us to why we're here," interjected Picard, seeing an opening and hoping to turn her bitterness around to something more productive.

Ishara laughed.

"Why Captain, you must be desperate indeed. Come here," she leaned in close to the table, crooking her finger at them. Riker and Picard leaned in as well.

"Listen carefully, Captain. I wouldn't tell you a thing if I were down to my last bar of gold-pressed latinum. So just get on back to that Berellian freighter or whatever the hell you've got docked out there and head back to the _Enterprise_. You'll get nothing here."

Picard straightened and tugged at his tunic. His lips thinned.

"I'm sure the _Enterprise_ is to blame for all your misfortune, Ishara. But then, perhaps you're unable to recognize an opportunity for redemption when it's staring you in the face. God knows you missed it the last time. You go on and get back to your…pursuits of happiness. We won't trouble you further." He stood, and Riker with him. Without glancing behind them the two men left the casino.

Out on the main walkway, Picard broke into a swift stride heading toward the lifts. He was certain Wesley had seen them leave and hoped he would be behind them quickly. The absolute vitriol he had detected in Ishara made him uneasy. Whether her hatred of them was enough to place them in peril, he was uncertain. But what he did know was that they needed to leave the Bazaar as swiftly as possible. Their operation was compromised.

"Well, that was certainly a blast from the past," commented Riker as the lift carried them down to the next level. Picard nodded.

"A decidedly unpleasant one."

"Actually, it's rather a shame. I think she would have done well in Starfleet if she'd had a chance."

Picard gave him a sideways glance.

"Don't make the same mistake we made last time, Will. She is not Tasha."

Riker shook his head.

"No. I know she's not. But I guess I like to think she could have been, under different circumstances."

"Each individual responds to adversity in different ways. Some rise above it, as Tasha did. Others wallow in it. I'm afraid Ishara chose to wallow," mused Picard. The lift door opened and they poured out onto Level Three. It was a half a kilometer walk to the lift down to Level Two. Picard kept the pace swift. They needed to leave this place as soon as they could.

They got to the next lift just as the Bazaar was shutting down. Dealers and sellers, heading back to their ships or dwellings, crowded the main thoroughfare on their way to the lifts as well. Before Picard knew it, they were mired down in a corporeal traffic jam, unable to move forward, backward or even sideways.

He didn't see Will go down. A very tall hominid who reminded him of Lwaxana Troi's major domo had momentarily blocked his sightline. When the crowd surged again, he only then noticed that Will was nowhere to be seen. It was then that he saw some kind of commotion in the general area where Will had been. Picard tried to jimmy his way sideways through the crowd. With his attention directed toward his missing man, he didn't see his own attacker until he felt the disruptor muzzle shoved into the small of his back.

Picard tried to twist around, to see who his assailant was, but a voice hissed in his ear to keep his eyes forward. No one around them seemed to notice anything amiss, or else, in typical Bazaar fashion, they were figuring it was none of their business and had no intention of getting involved. His unknown abductor edged him slowly out of the main crush of people until they reached a side alley, where they could move more freely. Still insisting that Picard keep his eyes forward, they pushed Picard along the side street, finally forcing him through a door into what looked like an abandoned cubicle.

Forced to his knees, Picard's hand were then bound behind his back. The cold metal of the disruptor at the base of his neck kept him from turning his head, but he was determined not to die without some information. He decided to keep playing at being Rotan until someone called his bluff.

"So…what are you waiting for. The latinum is in my belt. Go ahead. Take it," he growled.

"I'm not interested in your latinum," came a female voice. He had heard that voice—heard it that very day, in fact. It was Jazel Kay. He felt the disruptor being removed from his skull and he cautiously turned his head.

"What do you want, then?" he asked, still being gruff.

She holstered her weapon and sat on a nearby crate, studying him.

"I thought I recognized you earlier," she said. "But it was your partner who gave you away. Even with the red hair, he was a ringer for Tom. Once I made him, I had you pegged as well."

"I don't know what you're talking about," bluffed Picard, hoping one last time he could throw her off the scent.

"Of course you don't, _Captain_ Picard." Her shoulders drooped and she shook her head. "I almost wish I hadn't figured it out. Tom always had good things to say about you."

"Why have you brought me here?" Picard asked, realizing now there was no use in maintaining the façade. Obviously as a Maquis she had known Tom Riker. Will's precise resemblance to his transporter double was what had given them away.

"I have my orders," she replied heavily, and then added, "Sorry. There are just certain things you can't come looking for in the Bazaar without raising about a dozen red flags. Especially when you're Starfleet. Too many people in here with too much to lose."

"We're not here to expose anyone," Picard tried assuring her. "We're only seeking…information."

"Yeah. Information on the Reaman cloak and the harmonic shield inhibitor. Just how did you think you were going to come looking for those without raising any suspicions?"

Picard figured from his vantage point there wasn't much to lose from sharing a little of his information. It might buy him some time as well as a way out.

"We're more interested in who else may have been interested in purchasing similar items recently than who is selling them," he told her.

She eyed him wearily.

"Sure. Like we're just going to roll over on our clients. That would do wonders for business." She sighed, resignedly. "Okay. Yeah. Why not. You're right. Someone was here looking for those same components. It was months back. They ended up at the same place you did—except they met with a little more success. I stayed out of it. I never did have much stomach for Romulans, anyway."

Picard twisted his whole body around to look at Jazel.

"Romulans?" he repeated, a chill sweeping though him. "Romulans were the buyers?"

Jazel shrugged.

"I only ever saw one Romulan. A woman. How many more there were, I have no idea. Like I said, I stayed out of it."

She stood up and began to pace the small area. Picard could tell that something was gnawing at her. Finally she stopped and looked at him.

"Look," she said haltingly. "I try to stay out of this part of the business. Back in my Maquis days…." She hesitated. "I've just seen too many people die to think that throwing a life away is inconsequential. Even a Starfleet life." She ran her fingers through her short-cropped hair and rubbed her neck. "The thing is, if I don't turn you in, then I'm as good as dead. The people who paid me expect me to carry out my end of the bargain. I just never thought anyone would ever show up looking for the same damn things again."

"I could always escape," Picard suggested hopefully. She seemed inclined to let him go, if he could just figure out a way to let her save face.

"Yeah, well, if it were just you, I could maybe make it convincing. But not both of you." She jerked her head toward the door, through which at that moment came stumbling in Will Riker, followed by the Drell. The Drell must have given him a powerful push because the larger man lost his footing and fell hard on one shoulder. Picard could see that Will's hands were bound as well.

"I told you there was no such thing as a free lunch," quipped Riker to Picard, the pain evident on the younger captain's face. Riker rolled onto his back and using his feet pushed himself into a sitting position. Unlike Picard, his hands were bound in front of him, not behind. Picard remembered the small phaser Will had hidden in the loose sleeve of his tunic. He wondered if Will's hands had enough movement to be able to reach it. He could tell Riker was contemplating the same thing. What they needed was a distraction.

That came a moment later. With a huge crash, a giant Nausican came pounding through the door, his booming roar filling the small enclosure. Picard saw Riker struggling to reach his phaser as Jazel and the Drell turned to confront the looming alien. Their shots went wild as the Nausican barreled into them, knocking the weapons from their hands. Picard, feeling like a contortionist, wrangled his bound hands beneath him and finally around in front of him.

Will had managed to reach his phaser and got off a shot in the general direction of their abductors, but had to roll out of the way of the diminutive Drell, who was charging him. The Nausican was tangling, hand to hand, with Jazel, whose Maquis training was obviously working to her advantage. As big as the Nausican was, he was having a time subduing her. Picard wasn't sure who he should be worrying most about—their abductors or the Nausican. He knew what Jazel's agenda was; the Nausican was an unknown.

Picard reached his hand beneath his pant leg and found first the small dagger he had secured there. As Jazel backed into him, however, the dagger went flying out of his grasp and out of his reach.

His hold-out phaser was harder to get to with his hands bound, but he twisted his shoulder until he thought it would pop from its socket. He was rewarded for the pain by the feel of the duranium handle as he pulled the weapon from its holster and fired.

He hit Jazel with a moderate stun setting. She slumped back against the wall and slid to the ground, unconscious. Thinking he should probably take out the Nausican too, he upped the setting a little to accommodate his size and took aim. A sharp pain in his left arm sent the phaser clattering to the ground. The Drell had seized the fallen dagger and plunged it into Picard's left shoulder. It burned like fire and Picard cried out in pain. A beam from Riker's direction knocked the Drell back, his hands loosening on the dagger's handle. Picard heard the small thud as the boy-sized being hit the floor.

All that remained now was the Nausican. His eyesight blurring some from the searing pain that would not leave him, Picard saw Riker swing his phaser in the direction of the now motionless Nausican.

"Don't move," ordered Riker, threateningly. The Nausican held up its hands, defensively.

"Captain—it's me," came an uncharacteristically human voice from the large alien form. Before their eyes the Nausican seemed to shrink until it became the shape of Wesley Crusher, his hands still held up before him, in surrender.

A grin crept over Riker's face.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," he said shakily. Wesley took the phaser from him and setting a narrow beam cut through the binders on Riker's hands. The two of them then came to Picard and undid his bindings. He found that the pain was subsiding and the room was coming back into focus.

"Just sit still, Captain," Wesley told him when he tried to stand. Picard waved him off with his right hand.

"It's just superficial, I'm sure. Help me up. We need to get out of here."

Picard knew they couldn't argue with that. He wasn't about to tell them that the feeling in his fingers was quickly diminishing or that he could still sense the warm trickle of blood underneath his shirt. There would be plenty of time to repair whatever damage he had once they got back to the yacht. He just had to make sure they got there.

"We can't leave them like this," Riker said, surveying the Bajoran and Drell. He and Wesley gently lifted Picard to his feet. "If they come around before we make it out of here…." He didn't need to finish the sentence.

The binding devices that had been used on Picard and Riker were worthless now. Finding nothing else in the empty cubicle, Riker tore strips off of his tunic and used them to tie the hands and feet of Jazel and her accomplice. With a nod of satisfaction he joined Wesley in helping to support Picard and they hurried away as fast as they could.

When the reached the main walkway, the crowds had thinned, but it was still a long way to the lift down. The three of them stopped to catch their breath. Picard turned to Wesley.

"I want you to go on ahead and ready the yacht. Give it a good going over before you engage any systems. Jazel and Ishara may not be the only ones who have figured out who we are. I want to make sure there are no nasty surprises when we try to get out of here."

"What about your shoulder, Sir?" Wesley asked. Picard detected the concern in his voice. The dagger was still lodged in the muscle and Picard's fingers were useless now. Still, there was nothing to be done until they could get to a med-kit on board the _Cousteau_. Picard patted the young man's back with his right hand.

"I'll be all right. When we get back to the _Enterprise_ your mother can patch me up and try her best not to say she told me so."

Picard noticed, with some amusement, that Wesley glanced briefly at Riker, as if for confirmation of his orders. Will gave a simple nod.

"I'll see you both back at the ship," Crusher told them. He moved away from them, heading toward the lift, and soon blended into nothingness along the street.

As Will shifted position to offer more support, Picard did his best to stand on his own two feet. He felt fairly stable now, as long as he didn't think too much about the blade sticking in his back. Of greater concern at the moment, however, was how to proceed without drawing attention to the weapon.

"Perhaps you should remove it, Will," he suggested. Riker blanched a little at the thought.

"What if it makes things worse?" Will countered. "I remember Beverly saying that pulling out the knife isn't always necessarily the best thing to do."

"Well, we have nothing to conceal it with, and frankly, walking down three more levels with a dagger sticking out of me is bound to get someone's attention sooner or later," Picard replied. He also was worried about the effects of removing the knife, but it seemed as though their options were few.

"Maybe they'll think it's just a new form of body piercing," offered Will, trying to inject some humor into their situation. Picard appreciated it and gave a little chuckle. It hurt like hell.

"I think, Will, you just need to take it out. If for some reason it leaves me incapacitated, I want you to return to the ship and get yourself and Wesley back to the _Enterprise_." He could see Will about to protest his request, so he made it official. "That's an order Captain—and as I outrank you in seniority, you're duty-bound to carry it out. Do I make myself clear?"

"I'll file a formal protest when we get back to Starbase 209," said Riker wryly. He eased Picard onto the step of a nearby cubicle that was closed for the day. It was nearly twilight now, a strange artificial twilight that seemed more like someone had put too much strain on the power grid and they were experiencing a brown-out. Wiping the perspiration off his palms and looking exceedingly uncomfortable, Will wrapped his fingers around the handle of the dagger.

"You ready?" he asked hesitantly. Picard nodded. "This may hurt a little," Riker added apologetically. Bracing his left hand against Picards shoulder blade, he pulled.

The same burning sensation that had overwhelmed him when the knife went in returned as it exited his body. Picard closed his eyes against the wave of vertigo that swept over him and endured the white heat of pain that coursed through his arm. A moment later he opened his eyes. The world seemed to have righted itself and Will was looking at him worriedly.

"Are you all right, Captain?" he asked quietly. Picard swallowed and managed a nod. His fingers, he realized were tingling slightly. He couldn't move them yet, but there was a definite sensation returning. It felt like a thousand stinging tentacles were assaulting his hand. He heard a ripping sound and saw that Riker was rending his tunic one more time. A whole new venue of pain enveloped him as Will pressed the make-shift bandage against the now gaping wound. In no time at all the wadded up strip of tunic had turned bright red and Will was going for another band from his ever-shortening hem.

"Will…we have to start moving," Picard said raggedly as the next bandage was pressed to the wound. Using the belt from Picard's own trousers, Riker somehow secured the bandage into place. Picard tried not to let on how much it hurt, although he could tell from the look in Will's eyes that he wasn't fooling anyone. At a much slower pace than he would have liked, they made their way toward the lifts.

Ninety minutes and three new bandages later, the emerged out of the final lift and on to Level One. Between the two of them, Picard figured they looked like a pair of derelicts, what with their tunics in rags and the dirt and blood stains that covered them. At a good pace it was about a twenty-minute walk to their docking port. Picard figured that at the rate he was going, they'd be lucky to get there before midnight.

It was 0030 hours when at last Picard and Riker entered the main corridor to the docking arms. If there had been any place at all to stop and rest, Picard would have done so before proceeding. The bleeding from his shoulder had finally stopped, but he felt considerably weakened and from time to time dizziness would overtake him. He was chilled too—probably some degree of shock, he thought. To keep the darkness from over-taking him, he focused on what Jazel had told him about the Romulan woman and what her connection to the _jzatar_ might be.

Turning a corner that would take them to their docking arm, Picard and Riker nearly plowed into a slight Ferengi who squealed in alarm before stumbling back against the bulkhead. It was Drang. Riker helped set him upright while Picard leaned against the wall to rest.

"Meeting didn't go so well?" asked the Ferengi with a wink.

"You could say that," replied Riker, attempting to step around the bar owner.

"Uh, uh, uh!" exclaimed the Ferengi, sidestepping and blocking Riker's steps.

"Look," said Riker in exasperation. "If you're thinking about hitting us up for more latinum, we didn't make the deal, all right? So just…go on your way."

"Of course you didn't make the deal! I could have told you that from the beginning. The Ice Princess…she doesn't like Starfleet too much." The Ferengi winked at them again. Picard saw Riker tense. If it came to a fight this time, Will was going to be on his own.

"I, on the other hand," continued the Ferengi quickly. "Have no compunctions about who I deal with. As long as the price is right."

Some of the tenseness eased back from Riker. He eyed the Ferengi.

"How do we know your information is good?" asked Riker, towering over Drang, who shrunk back against the bulkhead.

"Because selling information is my business," whimpered the Ferengi. "If I sell bad information, who's going to pay me?" He held up an isolinear chip. "What you need is here…and I'm very reasonable."

Riker looked at Picard who nodded. Reaching in a pouch, Riker produced a hundred bars of latinum and offered it to the Ferengi. He giggled.

"You must not want this very much," said Drang.

Riker added another hundred to the offer and the Ferengi squirmed in delight.

"If you could just sweeten the pot a little more…" he began, but Riker strong-armed him back against the bulkhead.

"Listen…you already got fifty off of us for what was pretty much a worthless meeting. I strongly…and I do mean strongly…suggest you accept what I have in my hand and hope the Ice Princess doesn't find out your cutting deals behind her back. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very!" squeaked the Ferengi. He tossed the chip to Picard and grabbed the latinum from Riker before scampering away back toward the main section of the Bazaar.

"Why do I feel like we just bought an Andorian's grocery list?" asked Riker as they watched Drang disappear.

"We'll just have to wait and see," replied Picard, slipping the chip into his pocket. "Come on—let's go, before he decides to come back with a few of his friends."

Wesley met them at the airlock and helped Will half-carry Picard up the ramp and onto the yacht.

"I've been over her, Sirs, with a fine tooth comb. If anyone sabotaged her, I sure can't find it," Wesley reported.

"Get us out of here, Commander," instructed Picard, sinking into the copilot seat. "As fast as you can possibly manage."

Picard felt a strong hand under his right elbow. Riker was guiding him back to his cabin.

"Now I'm pulling rank, Captain. Let Wesley do his job while I take a look at that shoulder. The least I can do is put a sterile dressing on it until Beverly can tend to it."

Hearing the satisfying release of the docking arm, Picard nodded in acquiescence. Not long after that, as Wesley expertly dodged the ever-present plasma charges, Picard slipped off into a hypo-spray induced rest.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Data, we need to give them more time," pleaded Deanna, blocking the exit from the captain's ready room. Data loomed before her, a look of consternation on his face.

"I am sorry, Counselor, but Captain Picard's orders were quite clear. We were to depart this area in seventy-two hours, with or without them."

Beverly accosted him from the side.

"Data—seventy-two hours doesn't have to mean seventy-two hours to the exact minute—and second," she added, seeing as how he was about to say that anyway. "I'm certain the captain would expect you to use your judgment on the matter, especially given the volatility of the Badlands. Seventy-two hours was…just an approximation."

The android cocked his head. Beverly had known him for too many years not to be able to figure out what he was thinking. Data did not live by approximations; he lived by exact figures and calculations. To ask him to set those aside for a more human inexactness would be like telling him a joke and expecting him to laugh. Without his emotion chip these things were beyond his capacity to understand. If Captain Picard had told him to leave in seventy-two hours, then at precisely seventy-two hours he would take the _Enterprise_ and head toward Betazed. The fact that she and Deanna were physically blocking his path was only a minor inconvenience.

"Doctor," he replied. "While I understand your concerns…and yours too, Counselor," he added. "I am afraid I cannot allow them to alter my orders." He tapped his com badge.

"Commander Data to Mr. Hrata, set course for Betazed and prepare to go to Warp Five on my orders."

The ensign at the helm acknowledge the command. Data turned once again to the two officers in front of him.

"If you will excuse me Counselor—Doctor…" he said politely, indicating his desire to exit. Deanna gave Beverly an exasperated look. Beverly shrugged. There was really nothing either of them could do, short of turning Data off. Unfortunately, that would be considered mutiny.

Deanna rolled her eyes and reluctantly stepped away from the door. Data gave her a nod of thanks and stepped quickly on to the bridge, with Deanna on his heels. As the door closed, Beverly could still hear her pressing her case with the unflappable First Officer. She held out little hope that it would do any good. Checking her chrono Beverly saw that there were still five minutes left before Data would give the command to go to warp. Nevertheless, she knew they were out of time.

Beverly sank wearily onto the sofa and rubbed her shoulder. It had been aching most of the night. She decided she must have slept on it the wrong way—not that she had gotten much sleep at all. The two previous nights she had taken the third shift in command on the bridge. It had set her sleep cycle off-kilter, she reasoned, making the transition back to her regular schedule difficult. Not to mention, she admitted to herself, that she found she now hated sleeping alone.

The thought of leaving the Badlands without Jean Luc left her feeling ill. If she thought it would do any good she would have ranted and raved at Data to get them to stay longer, but she knew that was a lost cause. She'd had a sickening feeling about this mission from the beginning. While she hadn't begged Jean Luc to take her along, she had certainly pressed her case as hard as she thought she dared. He hadn't fooled her with his talk of limiting the risk to the fewest number of crew. He had been protecting her, just as she had wanted to go along to protect him. She shook her head over how pathetic the two of them could be. They would have to work this out, she realized, if they were both going to have any kind of professional life.

Still, her dread over this mission had been persistent. She had hardly been able to say good-bye to Jean Luc, for fear that the words would somehow indeed be final. And now they had not returned. How long would it be before Starfleet would send a ship back to look for them? The yacht had warp capability, but what if it had been damaged by the plasma storms and emerged from the Badlands without helm control, propulsion or communication systems functional? Beverly could imagine a hundred different ways they could perish on the fringe of the Badlands for want of a few extra minutes or hours of the _Enterprise_ waiting. She wanted to scream.

Beverly checked her chrono again and saw that it was time. She mentally braced herself to hear the warp engines engage and see the stationary stars outside the window's of Jean Luc's office stream into luminescent lines.

It didn't happen.

Instead her com badge chirped.

"Data to Doctor Crusher—please report to Shuttle Bay Two. We are tractoring the _ Cousteau_ aboard."

"You were lucky," Beverly told Jean Luc as she ran the healing rays of the dermal regenerator over the scar left by the dagger. "A centimeter in either direction and you'd have bled to death in fifteen minutes. There's no permanent damage to the muscle either. It will just be sore for a few days."

She was giving him her best bedside manner and swallowing the words she really wanted to say. For Jean Luc's part, he looked alternatively sheepish, as if knowing what chastisements she'd like to lay on him, and expectant. They hadn't had a chance to be alone yet since the yacht had returned from the Badlands.

"Right now," she continued. "You need to rest."

"You look a little fatigued yourself," Picard observed. Beverly shook her head and smiled.

"A few too many midnight shifts," she explained. "Then there's my day job." She checked a read-out on the tricorder and nodded with satisfaction.

"Why don't you get cleaned up and get some sleep," she told him. "It'll take Data a while to analyze that chip anyway. You can schedule a briefing for later this afternoon."

Jean Luc nodded, uncharacteristically compliant. He slid off the bio bed and headed toward the door.

"Oh, and Captain," Beverly called after him. He stopped and turned. She crossed her arms and gave him as icy a stare as she could manage. "Don't ever do that to me again."

A slow smile spread across Jean Luc's face as he turned and headed toward their quarters.

By the time Data had finished the analysis of the Ferengi's chip, Picard had shaved, showered and had time to rest. His shoulder felt much better, although he could still feel a slight burn in the muscle whenever he moved his arm. Glancing around the conference table he was gratified to see that both Will and Wesley looked none the worse for their trip to the Badlands. In fact, Will, sans the red hair, looked like he had shed about ten years now that he was back on the _Enterprise_ and Deanna was at his side once more.

Picard tapped his finger on the table and everyone immediately gave him their attention. As succinctly as possible, he recounted, with Will and Wesley's help, the events that had transpired at the Bazaar. When he had finished, he turned expectantly to Data.

"The contents of the isolinear chip were fairly straight-forward," the android announced. "The information was provided in Federation Standard language and did not require any decryption or translation. I then proceeded to perform a more in-depth analysis of the chip itself. It was my supposition that perhaps trace elements on the chip or retrievable data from the chip's prior usage might lead us to understand its origins."

Picard and the others waited expectantly. Finally Geordi spoke.

"So, what did you find, Data?"

The First Officer displayed the findings on the large monitor at the end of the room.

"Aside from the information stored on it pertaining to our specific objectives, there were no other data retrievable from the chip itself. All indications are that it is a new chip, on which no other data had ever been stored. Similarly, a spectral analysis of the exterior of the chip itself revealed no unusual trace elements, no radiation signatures and no anomalous markings. The only finger-prints present belong to the members of the Away Team. The chip, to use an old forensic phrase, is clean."

Picard tried not to hide his exasperation. His joy at having Data back was endless. His patience with the android was not.

"What did the data on the chip reveal, Commander?"

Data pressed another control on the monitor. A schematic appeared.

"These are the schematics on the Reaman cloaking device. I have studied them in detail and have discovered several pertinent facts about the device. The first is, as I believe you know, the cloak is nearly perfect. Unlike a standard Romulan cloak, the Reaman cloak cannot be exposed using tachyon particles. We will need to devise other methods if we are to detect a ship utilizing such a cloak."

Out of the corner of his eye, Picard noticed Deanna wince slightly at Data's conclusions. The android's memory anagrams did not contain the record of Deanna's assault on the Reaman Viceroy's mind which had helped them locate the _Scimitar_ when it was under cloak. Picard saw Will's hand cover hers comfortingly for which she gave him a grateful smile.

"The second pertinent fact about the cloak," Data continued, "Is that it requires a hull coated with triadium in order to maintain its integrity."

"Triadium?" repeated Will, looking puzzled. "Why?"

"The refractive ability of the metal is apparently the key to the quality of the Reaman cloak."

Will turned to Picard.

"Among the information the task force acquired from the Romulans was full disclosure as to the mining operations on Reamus. Dilithium was the primary ore, but triadium was also mined. No wonder Shinzon was able to make the damn thing work so well."

"There is more, Captain," interjected Data. He switched the monitor view so that a familiar and deadly image pulsed before them.

"According to this information, triadium was the key to Shinzon's plans for surviving his attacks with the theleron weapon. Triadium is a natural barrier to theleron radiation. It is completely impervious to theleron particles."

"It can block theleron radiation?" repeated Beverly, incredulously. Data nodded.

"That is correct, Doctor. Ships coated with triadium would not have their crews jeopardized by such weapon."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Will, looking confused. "All that information is there in the schematics for the cloaking device?"

Data returned to the table and sat down.

"Actually, Captain, no. While I believe you and Captain Picard went in search of intelligence on the Reaman cloak and the harmonic shield inhibitor, the data provided on the chip also contains schematics for a third device. It is there where I discovered the pertinent information regarding the triadium."

"Mr. Data…what is the third device you just mentioned?" Picard asked, a sickening feeling beginning to take form in his gut.

"I am sorry, Sir. I thought it was obvious. The third device is a theleron weapon: its schematics and its specifications."

The silence around the table was absolute. The only sound above the hum of the engines was Picard's heart thudding in his ears. A theleron weapon….

"What else does the chip contain, Mr. Data," he said finally, in a hushed voice. It seemed as if the room held its collective breath.

Data folded his hands on the table.

"The information on the harmonic shield inhibitor states that its design originated as a result of utilizing Borg technology. There is a schematic on the wave modulator and the frequency generating device used in the inhibitor. I believe it will warrant further study by Commander LaForge. Also contained in the chip is a list of transactions dating back approximately eight months between an unknown source and the black market dealer known as the Ice Princess. Exactly twenty-seven days ago, delivery of all three devices was confirmed to a ship identified only as the _Stanaga_."

"Data…did you say _Stanaga_?" Deanna asked suddenly. Data nodded.

"Yes, Counselor. I did."

Deanna looked worriedly around the table.

"That's them," she said with conviction. "That's the _jzatar_. That's the ship that attacked the Titan!"

"How can you be sure?" asked Picard.

"Because," Deanna replied, fighting the emotion in her voice. "In Betazoid, _Stanaga_ means 'pure blood'."

Picard sighed in resignation. It was as he had feared…only worse.

"Sir," interrupted Data. "There was one final file on the chip. It was rather cryptic, as well as being a cliché."

"What was it, Mr. Data?" Picard asked wearily.

"Merely an old Klingon proverb, Sir: 'Revenge is a dish best served cold'."

Deanna closed down the computer screen in frustration and pushed back from the desk with a long sigh. She was completely stymied, and it made no sense to her whatsoever. For two hours she had been accessing the cultural and historical records on her home world of Betazed and had found absolutely no meaningful information about the Sacred Chalice of Rixx or the Holy Rings of Betazed, aside from the fact that they existed.

"This is ridiculous," she told Kestra who was playing with her toes in the nearby bassinette. "I grew up with these things—I saw that stupid chalice nearly every day of my life until I was twenty-six years old, and I don't know a thing about it!"

Kestra's dark eyes focused on her mother and she offered sympathetic cooing sounds. Deanna looked at her daughter and managed a smile, trying to empty herself of the feelings of helplessness for Kestra's sake. She was beginning to suspect that Beverly's observations of Kestra were right: that the child was a precocious empath, tuned into the emotions of everyone surrounding her.

In a way, she wasn't surprised. From about the end of the first trimester Deanna had become aware of her child's developing consciousness. While this was not unusual for Betazoid women, what was unusual was that she had the distinct impression that her child was likewise aware of her. Shortly after Kestra's birth, it had become apparent, even to Beverly, that Kestra was sensitive to both Deanna's and Will's emotions: happy and content when their emotions were calm, fussy and inconsolable when either of them were distressed.

What worried Deanna, however, was that most Betazoid children did not develop their telepathic abilities until their early adolescence. Those rare few who were born with the telepathic or even empathic switches already on faced considerable difficulties, as they tried to sort out the mental assault from the environment on their under-developed and un-prepared minds. Deanna thought of Tam Elbrun and of the years of torment he had endured, having been born telepathic. She wondered if her daughter would suffer in a similar way.

For one of the rare times in her life, Deanna found herself actually wishing her mother were there. She was desperately in need of advice with regard to Kestra, and although she was loathe to admit it, Lwaxana was exactly the person whose advice she needed.

"Well, they always say you never fully appreciate your parents until you become one yourself," she told Kestra, leaning over the bassinette and tickling a small bare foot. Kestra smiled delightedly and gave her best attempt at a giggle. Just watching her made Deanna feel somewhat better—as if somehow Kestra's innocent joy were somehow being fed back to her.

Deanna's thoughts drifted back to her mother. She had to admit that she was indeed quite worried about her. Deanna had replayed her last transmission a dozen times, trying to make sense of its rather cryptic nature, but without success. More and more she was beginning to believe that Beverly was correct in that it had something to do with her mother's position as the Daughter of the Fifth House. However, despite several attempts, she had been unsuccessful in finding anyone who could give her any more insight into the Five Houses of Betazed than she had learned in her history books. Messages she had sent to the Daughters of the other four Houses had all gone unanswered, and the Betazed Cultural Attaché, she had learned, was at a conference on Risa, where he seemed to be entirely unreachable.

She was grateful, therefore, that Captain Picard had decided that finding her mother was the next most logical step. It was obvious that Lwaxana had information vital to understanding and possibly preventing the _jzatar's_ plot and that the _Enterprise_ needed to find her before the _Stanaga_ did. None of what they had learned so far made any sense to Deanna, least of all the attempt on her life. She was certain her mother would be able to help shed some light on this whole, tragic chain of events.

When they found her.

If they found her.

Amazingly, Worf had managed to back-trace Lwaxana's message to its origin. According to the tactical officer, it had been routed through more than a dozen different relay stations before arriving at the _Titan_. For anyone less skilled than Worf, finding out that the message had originated on Pacifica would have taken them a month or more, however, because of Worf's well-honed skills, the _Enterprise_ would arrive at the ocean world in less than five hours.

Deanna admitted she had been skeptical of Worf's conclusions at first. It made no sense to her that her mother—with Mr. Homn in tow—would attempt to hide on Pacifica. The place was a tourist haven, especially now that things were returning to normal after the Dominion War. With so many beings coming and going, hiding out would be difficult.

Data, however, had pointed out the possibility that they were following an old maxim: to hide in plain sight. Deanna had to admit he had a point. Who would expect to find someone hiding out on a place impossible to hide out in? As a strategy, it had her mother written all over it.

A disconsolate cry came from Kestra and Deanna scooped her up and cradled her, thinking again how this very moment might not even be if the _jzatar_ had their way. She pushed away the anger and the fear associated with those thoughts and forced herself to focus only on the contentment holding her daughter brought her. Kestra looked up at her and hiccupped, two tiny tears escaping from her tiny, dark eyes. Deanna held her close, rocking her back and forth.

"Don't worry, Little One," she whispered. "We'll find your grandmother soon."

She only hoped her words were as true as they were comforting.

Five hours later, the _Enterprise_ entered orbit around Pacifica. The ocean planet was considered the gem of the quadrant, its lush hues of blue, turquoise, and green practically iridescent, even from space. Picard had visited it many times, often on Starfleet missions, but occasionally on vacation as well. It certainly did not have the reputation that a place like Risa had, although they rivaled each other for beauty, and Picard found himself regretting, for the thousandth time, that he and Beverly hadn't had a chance to relax on such a paradise before being thrust back into action.

For this away mission, Picard had been content to allow Riker, Troi and Worf beam down. Worf had pinpointed the source of the transmission of Lwaxana's message; it was a remote resort town on one of the southern island chains. Between Lwaxana's flamboyance and Mr. Homn's unique appearance, it seemed as though finding someone who could recall them should not be a problem.

Deanna had insisted on going. Beverly had declared her fit to return to duty after they had deposited the _Titan_ crew at Starbase 209, although technically she was still on leave. Will had not been crazy about the idea, Picard knew, but Deanna had fixed him with a look that broached no argument. With Worf and Will both along, Picard really had no concern for her safety. Not on Pacifica, anyway. But then, the _Titan_ hadn't been expecting any trouble either, and certainly not from any Betazoids. It never hurts to be too cautious, Picard decided, and requested a scan of the nearby star system. When the ensign at the comm reported there were no unusual ships or readings, Picard allowed himself to relax a little.

When the door to the bridge hissed open, a few moments later, however, he jumped. _Well,_ he thought, _maybe I am more on edge than I think._ He turned to see Beverly walking down the steps beside him. Last he knew, she was babysitting Kestra Riker on her off-duty shift.

"I've come to relieve you," she told him. Picard checked his chrono. Sure enough, it was time for a shift change. He arched an eyebrow at her.

"I'm still on the rotation for bridge duty," she explained. "If I ever want that command…."

"Ambitious, aren't you?" he asked jokingly. "Computer, transfer command of the bridge to Commander Beverly Crusher, authorization Picard delta sigma nine. Will you notify me if you hear from the away team?" he asked, rising and heading toward his ready room.

Beverly slid into the command chair.

"I will…where do you think you're going?"

Picard paused and looked back at her.

"I have some work…." But he broke off as he saw her smile a little too sweetly.

"I relieve you; you relieve me. Someone is waiting for you in our quarters."

It took Picard a moment to interpret what she said. His eyes widened.

"If you mean…" But Beverly wouldn't let him finish.

"Don't worry. She's sound asleep. I left all the instructions on a padd. And if you have any questions, you can just call me."

Picard strode over to the center chair and leaned down close to Beverly's ear. No use in letting the whole crew in on this, graveyard shift though it was.

"Beverly," he said, desperately. "I really don't know a thing about…babies. Perhaps I should take this shift and…" but she would not let him finish.

"Absolutely not. You'll be fine. Go on, now. I've got a monitor on her, but I don't want her to be alone for too long. Besides," she added in a low voice. "If we're even contemplating this, it's good experience. For both of us."

Picard smiled at her weakly and headed reluctantly toward the turbo lift. Will and Deanna had already asked him and Beverly to be Kestra's godparents. It seemed to Picard he was going to get to know his goddaughter very well indeed.

As promised, Beverly notified Jean Luc two hours later when the away team had beamed back on board. Bringing Kestra and depositing her into the surprised arms of Deanna, Picard joined them in the observation lounge for a quick debriefing. The child lay quietly as Deanna reported their findings.

"She was there, all right, Captain. Mr. Homn too."

"Mr. Homn is rather hard to miss," interjected Riker with a smile.

"But they left about ten days ago. No one knows to where," finished Deanna wearily.

Worf turned to the captain with his report.

"While Captain Riker and Counselor Troi searched for Mrs. Troi, I investigated the local transporter station and space port. A man fitting Mr. Homn's description booked passage for two on a passenger liner bound for Sakura Prime. It left Pacifica ten days ago."

"Sakura Prime?" repeated Deanna. "That's halfway across the quadrant."

"Obviously your mother seems bent on leading the _jzatar_ a merry chase," mused Picard.

"There's one more thing, Captain," added Worf, glancing at Deanna. "The individual I spoke with said that approximately eight days ago two other people had been inquiring about the same individuals. From their appearance, he believed them to be Betazoid."

Picard frowned with worry. He saw the look of concern pass over Deanna's face. Already they were more than a week behind the _jzatar_. If they caught up to Lwaxana before the _Enterprise_…he did not even want to contemplate the consequences.

"Our advantage, as least, is that the _Enterprise_ in all likelihood has greater speed than the _jzataran_ ship." He commed Beverly, still in command on the bridge.

"

Commander Crusher," he said, using her rank. "Set course for Sakura Prime, Warp Eight."

When the _Enterprise_ arrived at Sakura Prime, they learned that Lwaxana Troi and Mr. Homn had indeed been there, but had only stayed a few hours. The Mizarian at the ticket counter remembered Mr. Homn and said that he had secured passage on a transport ship headed for Pelleaus V. At Pelleaus V, they learned Mr. Homn had been bound for Janus VI on a ship which was intended to leave from there to Hurada III.

"Deanna," sighed Picard heavily after their latest investigation had pointed them in the direction of Hurada III. "Not that I'm not concerned about your mother…but this trail of hers is getting quite out of hand. Is there any way you could, perhaps, anticipate her next move? It's been nearly ten days since we left the Badlands, and I don't feel as though we're any closer to finding her than we were then."

Deanna shook her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I wish I could. I just have no connection with her right now. I don't know if it's residual hormones or if she's just blocking me, thinking she's protecting me. But I honestly don't have a clue as to where their next stop will be."

Picard rubbed his temples and thought. He'd had Data plot the path Lwaxana and Mr. Homn had taken, but there seemed to be no particular pattern to it. As best they could tell, each destination was merely a matter of opportunity: who was leaving for where at the time they needed to depart.

"Well," sighed Picard, again. "Then I suppose we have no choice but to head for Hurada III. Helm, set course and engage."

As the ensign at the helm was laying in coordinates, Worf's deep baritone came urgently from the tactical station.

"Sir…we're receiving a distress signal…it is a Ferengi vessel. Bearing two-two-seven mark six-seven-four. They say they were attacked by an unidentified vessel which stripped them of their shields."

Picard straightened in his seat.

"Belay that heading to Hurda III, ensign. Lay in a new course to intercept the Ferengi ship," commanded Picard.

The ensign did as told and reported back to the captain.

"Sir, the Ferengi vessel is on the route to Harada III. It's possible it was heading there from Palleaus V when they were attacked."

Picard noted the information on his chair console. It did indeed appear as if the Ferengi ship had been bound for Hurada III from Palleaus V when it met its unknown foe.

Within minutes the antiquated Ferengi ship was on screen. Ten minutes later the _Enterprise_ was along side it.

"Open a channel, Mr. Worf," instructed Picard.

A portly Ferengi filled the view screen, causing Picard to wince slightly. Ferengi were not the most attractive beings in the galaxy and to have one magnified as large as the _Enterprise_'s view screen was…unpleasant.

"Air…" gasped the Ferengi dramatically. "We…need…air…."

"Sir," reported Worf with great exasperation. "Our sensors indicate that life support is fully operational and functioning on the Ferengi vessel. There should be sufficient oxygen for the crew to breathe."

Hearing this, the Ferengi dropped the performance and stared accusingly at Picard.

"So…are you going to help us, or what?" he demanded.

"I am Captain Jean Luc Picard of the _Enterprise_…" he began, but the Ferengi cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure. I am Daimon Elkon of the _Profit Margin_. Don't just stand there, do something!"

"And just precisely what is it you would like us to do, Daimon?" asked Picard testily. "Who attacked you?"

"How do I know who attacked us? They came out of no-where…they had a cloak! Next thing I knew, down went our shields. They even took out our weapons—very sophisticated targeting. I'd like to get my hands on that technology!"

"Do you have any idea why your ship was attacked?" asked Picard, trying to maintain his patience. Daimon Elkon glared at him.

"Of course I do…at least, I mean I know now. At the time…well, I'd never have allowed them on my ship if I had known they were such a hot item. They only paid me half up front. I was supposed to get the rest when we got to Hurada III. Half of the fare isn't going to pay for the damage to my ship!"

"Daimon Elkon…" said Picard very slowly, still trying to keep his impatience in check. "Could you please tell me why you believe you were you attacked?"

The Ferengi looked at him as if the answer were obvious.

"Why it was our passengers of course…that female…ooh. Well. Maybe she was worth it. Few non-Ferengi females can give such oomax…." A look of longing and contentment filled the Ferengi's face. It nearly made Picard blush.

"Daimon…" he prompted, attempting to jar the Ferengi out of his reverie.

"What? Oh…yes. It was the female. And the strange man with her. A giant, I think. As soon as our shields were down, they were beamed off the ship. Both of them. And the box the female was carrying along with them, although I'd hoped they'd leave it behind. The way the two of them guarded it, it must have been of some value. It would have been some compensation for what happened to my ship!"

Picard looked at Worf and nodded.

"Daimon…we're transmitting an image of a woman. Could you please identify if this is your passenger or not?"

The Ferengi squinted at his own view screen as a picture of Lwaxana Troi appeared. Recognition lit his eyes.

"Yes! That's her!" he exclaimed. The image vanishing, he squinted back at Picard. "Is she…valuable? Why does Starfleet look for her too?"

Picard manufactured a smile.

"She is a friend who has gone…missing. We thank you for your assistance, Daimon. Is there anyway we can aid you with your ship?"

The Ferengi's eye brightened.

"Tell me, Captain. You wouldn't have any spare EPI capacitators on board?"

Picard pondered the request.

"I suppose we could replicate some…is there a particular problem with you ship that you require such devices?"

"Captain…" came Geordi's cautionary voice from the rear of the bridge. Picard made a motion to cut the audio and turned to his chief engineer.

"EPI capacitators will let them open just about any sealed vessel like a can-opener opens a can," he warned Picard. "It's the perfect technological crowbar."

"I understand, Commander," replied Picard, motioning for audio to be restored.

"As I was saying, Captain," said Elkon. "They would come in most useful as we effect repairs."

Picard smiled.

"As my chief engineer was just informing me, the EPI capacitators we have would be incompatible with your technology. However, we have seventeen extra cases of hydrospanners we'd be happy to send your way to help get you up and running. They'll be beamed aboard shortly. Picard out."

The view screen winked off, returning the view of the stars and the damaged Ferengi ship. Geordi leaned over the science console and studied his commander.

"Captain…are those the defective hydrospanners we've been trying to return to Starfleet supply?" asked Geordi in a half-whisper.

Picard gave him an arched look.

"Are they, Mr. LaForge?"

Geordi grinned.

"I'll see they get transferred to the _Profit Margin_ ASAP, Captain."

Picard turned to Deanna who had taken a seat to his left, at her old post. With the _Enterprise_ counselor on leave and Will and Deanna temporarily on-board, Picard felt a degree of comfort with the crew that he hadn't experienced in months. He had to keep reminding himself that it would not last. As soon as this assignment was over, Will and Deanna would be gone and Dr. Andagga would be back. He would have to go back to juggling the crew schedule even as he petitioned Admiral Janeway for just one more officer transfer. For now though, he had the best counselor in Starfleet; not to mention Lwaxana's daughter.

"Thoughts, Counselor?" he asked.

Deanna hugged herself and looked off at the space into which her mother had disappeared. Picard couldn't tell if she were concentrating or merely trying to collect herself before answering. He knew she must feel as frustrated as he—coming so close to catching up with Lwaxana, only to have her snatched practically from under their noses.

Deanna's head jerked suddenly and she sat up straight in her seat.

"Captain…" she said urgently. She turned to him. He could see something had happened. Whether it was a telepathic connection or an empathic response, he wasn't sure.

"They're going to Betazed," Deanna said with conviction. "It makes sense. That's where they'd take her. Back to Betazed."

Picard didn't need to be told twice.

"Helm. Set course for Betazed. Warp Eight." He turned back to Deanna, trying to offer her comfort.

"We'll find her, Deanna. We'll stop them before they can harm her."

Deanna's dark eyes bore into him.

"I'm not sure she's the one really in danger, Captain. She's only…the bait."

Picard was confused.

"Bait?" he repeated. "For what? For who?"

Deanna was silent for a moment as she stared into streaking starscape. Her response was hardly loud enough for Picard to hear.

"Me."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The planet Betazed hung outside the window in Deanna's quarters, a planet whose beauty rivaled any in the galaxy, despite the destruction it had suffered at the hands of the Dominion. Still, Deanna gazed at it with a heavy heart. If indeed the sentiments of the _jzatar_ were gaining popularity among her fellow Betazoids, she feared the consequences even more than she had when the Cardassians and Jem H'dar had terrorized her people. Despite her half-human genetics, Deanna had never felt anything but Betazoid. True, she did not share the full telepathic abilities full-blooded Betazoids did, except with people she was close to, like her mother, but no one had ever denigrated her for that. Accepting people for who they were was so much a part of the Betazoid social psyche that it was difficult to comprehend how a movement like the _jzatar_ could even gain a toehold. Still, she had seen entire societies shift their political and moral centers in response to military or even natural trauma. She just had never thought Betazed capable of such a transformation.

Observing the planet as the _Enterprise_ entered standard orbit, Deanna realized she hadn't been home since her wedding, nearly two years ago. What had been planned as a joyful celebration had taken on a more somber tone, following the encounter with Shinzon. The death of Data had weighed heavily, and at her request her mother, albeit reluctantly, had scaled back the event. Her crewmates had rallied quite well, attempting to keep the most recent events from casting a morbid pall on the day, but she had read each of their emotions too well. Between grief over Data and a pervasive sadness at their pending reassignments, the mood was anything but festive and she had been glad to leave Betazed and get on with her new life aboard the _Titan_.

In her crib in the next room, Deanna heard…and felt…Kestra stir restlessly in her sleep. Deanna had not shared her concerns about their daughter's empathic abilities with Will. He had more than enough to worry about these days. The loss of his ship and so many of her crew had weighed heavier on him that anything ever had before, including the death of his father. She could feel the depth of his grief and anger at the loss of so much life. She knew that Will in no way blamed her, but from time to time she couldn't help but feel responsible for the _Titan's_ loss. She did her best to hide her self-incrimination from Will because she was certain he would try to absolve her if he knew. For now she did not want to be absolved. Seventy-six people had died, indirectly because of her. She wanted to feel the pain of that loss, the burden of that guilt. It would give her the courage to find the truth and bring those responsible to justice.

Deanna knew with a frightening certainty that, ultimately, she would be the one needed to confront the jzatar. For the past three weeks a growing premonition had hung about her. Whether it was the result of her telepathic encounter with the jzatar when Kestra was born, or some kind of telepathic leakage from her mother, she had no idea. And, while she still had no clue as to the jzatar's particular interest in her or her daughter, Deanna did know that only she could bring about the resolution to this mission. Not Will with his strategic thinking; not Captain Picard, with the power of the _Enterprise_; not even her mother, with all her scheming and bluster. Just her. Whether it was an encounter she would survive, she had no idea. The only thing that was certain was that there was a very real possibility that her daughter could grow up like both she and Will: with one parent permanently and irretrievably gone.

"Picard to Counselor Troi," came the captain's voice over the intercom. Deanna responded, relieved to be shaken out of her morbid reverie. Picard continued.

"We are ready for you in the observation lounge, Deanna."

"I'll be there shortly, Captain. I just need to take Kestra to sickbay."

With so few families on board the _Enterprise_, no nursery had yet been established. There were about two dozen school-age children on-board, but the school-rooms had not been set-up for infant care. Beverly, therefore, had offered her office as a temporary nursery for those times when Deanna and Will were both occupied, and Deanna had accepted. With Beverly being both a physician and a mother, Deanna felt her daughter couldn't be in more capable hands.

"I don't think this will take too long," Deanna told Beverly as she tucked Kestra into the bassinette. "The Betazoid Prime Minister is an old friend of my mother's. I'm sure our request for a planetary scan will be approved without much discussion."

Beverly looked up from her desk.

"We'll be just fine. Just do what you have to to find Lwaxana."

Deanna thanked her and headed toward the observation lounge.

When she arrived, Prime Minister Jarken had already been escorted there ahead of her. Will, Picard and the Prime Minister all rose when she entered the room and she joined them at one end of the large table.

"Counselor—I was just up-dating the Prime Minister on the events that have led us here," Picard told her.

"We'd just gotten to the part where Lwaxana was beamed off the Ferengi ship, and how your intuition led us back here to Betazed," Will added. Deanna noted that the Prime Minister had a troubled look on his face. Worry was emanating from him in waves.

"Then it is as I have feared," he said, when Will was done speaking. He looked apologetically at Deanna. "We had hoped your mother was off on one of her famous junkets…you know how she likes to roam around the quadrant, now that she's Betazed's cultural liaison. But from what you're telling me, I believe we have a much greater problem than I had thought."

"If there's anything you can tell us, Minister," encouraged Deanna. She knew the man had a story to tell; she hoped he would be forthcoming.

"During the last eight months, the Daughters of each of the Five Houses of Betazed have all died or vanished. Your mother was the last. The other four…well, there were explanations that seemed logical at the time. But for the Daughter of the Fifth House to disappear…and now you tell me she was forcibly taken from a ship. Well, it's worse than we thought."

"Minister, can you please explain to us the significance of the Five Houses of Betazed…and the Daughters," interrupted Picard. The Prime Minister nodded.

"The Five Houses of Betazed represent the five original clans from which our people descended. Millennia ago they were each in charge of a different aspect of our culture: healing, provision, justice, knowledge and the sacred. Each house had an object, symbolic of their responsibility."

"The Chalice of Rixx…a cup to symbolize the thirst for knowledge…" interjected Deanna, suddenly remembering something her mother had once told her. The Prime Minister looked at her and nodded.

"Precisely. Betazed was once a matriarchal society. Tradition has it that each sacred object was passed from mother to daughter, or, if there were no daughter, to a niece. Only in the event that there were no female offspring was it to be passed to a son or nephew."

"Sark Enaren, Scion of the Fourth House…" Deanna recalled. "Except he was killed trying to get information to the Federation about the Dominion's plans for Betazed."

"Yes. But he had a daughter from his first marriage, to whom the Books were passed, the Blessed Books of Katara" he explained to Picard and Riker.

"Is there anything significant about these objects, Prime Minister," asked Picard. "Apart from their obvious value as historical and cultural icons?"

The Prime Minister was shaking his head.

"None that I'm aware of."

Riker's brow was furrowed.

"You said the daughters had all died or disappeared…can you tell us how?" he asked.

"It began with Partina Daar, Daughter of the First House. She had been ill for some time, and was quite elderly, so when she died, no one thought it was anything but the result of her illness."

"But it wasn't," stated Deanna simply.

"No," said the Prime Minister, sadly. "At least now we know it was not. After the other deaths, we requested an autopsy. Partina was poisoned."

"And the others?" prompted Riker.

"Aleya Kavar, Daughter of the Second House, was killed in a hovercraft accident, along with her two youngest daughters. Again, we did not suspect anything out of the ordinary at first. Certainly vehicle accidents on Betazed are unusual…we so easily communicate our intentions to one another that there's hardly ever a collision. But this seems to have happened when no one was nearby, so it was classified as driver error." The Prime Minister sighed. "Then there was Sorana Xerix," he smiled slightly at Deanna. "You know Sorana, Deanna. She and your mother were very much alike. Both…flamboyant and certainly not afraid to express their opinions."

"Yes," said Deanna, returning his sad smile. "Sorana and Mother were good friends…and sometimes rivals in the social circles of the Betazed aristocracy."

"Sorana was murdered," the Prime Minister told her gently. "In her own home, no less. The place had been ransacked. Several items of value were found missing and so it was thought to be a burglary she had walked in on."

"But you don't think it was a burglary?" asked Picard.

"Not now. Not with what has happened to the daughters of the other four houses."

"Sark Enaren's daughter…the heir of the Fourth House," Deanna asked. "What about her?"

"She's vanished," the Prime Minister reported. "She never made it home from school one day. Some thought the girl had just run away…she's seventeen, and has always been rather willful. But now we believe she was abducted. As you can imagine, her mother is beside herself with grief."

A shiver ran through Deanna. She now knew what it was like to fear for the safety of one's child.

"And now your mother has been kidnapped," concluded the Prime Minister. "It completes the pattern and has us all very worried."

"But why?" asked Riker. "I mean…no offense, Deanna…but as I understand the role of the Five Houses of Betazed, they have no real power any more…they're just ceremonial."

"True," agreed the Prime Minister. "Which is what makes this whole affair so puzzling. Even the artifacts themselves, while culturally significant, have only limited value in say a black market. I just don't understand it."

Picard leaned back in his chair. Deanna could tell he was analyzing the pieces of this mystery. Had the circumstances been less dire, she might have even thought he would have enjoyed piecing together these clues, but she knew Captain Picard too well to think he would take any enjoyment from something that was so potentially threatening, especially to her family.

"Minister, what can you tell us about the _jzatar_?" Picard asked finally.

The Prime Minister's color drained from his face.

"That's a name that we're beginning to hear more and more around the government offices, Captain. Six months ago I would have dismissed it with a wave of my hand. But I can't ignore them anymore."

"So they're gaining power?" asked Riker incredulously.

"So it would seem…at least they're gaining popularity." He looked apologetically at the Starfleet officers. "Believe me when I say, that I and most of the Betazoid parliament have nothing but the highest regard and gratitude to the Federation and Starfleet for their efforts on behalf of Betazed during the Dominion War." He looked pointedly at Deanna. "Your personal sacrifices were responsible for the freeing of our people and our planet."

"Unfortunately," Deanna pointed out. "It was also responsible for a number of deaths of many well-known and beloved Betazoids." To repel the Jem H'dar, the most talented of Betazeds telepaths had sent telepathic noise at the Jem H'dar troops, confusing them long enough for conventional troops to come and overpower them. Regrettably, the telepathic effort had killed many of Betazed's premiere telepaths.

"Regardless," replied the Prime Minister. "We are forever grateful. Unfortunately, groups like the _jzatar_ fail to see Betazed in the context of its larger place in the intergalactic community. They are xenophobic isolationists, and they've seized upon the difficulties brought about by the Dominion War to spread their doctrine of hate and fear among the people. Thankfully, most reject them, seeing them for what they are and always have been. However, our intelligence reports a dramatic increase in the number of people who are being drawn to their cause."

"

We have reason to suspect that the _jzatar_ is behind the abduction of Ambassador Troi," Picard told him frankly. "We also believe they were behind an attack on the _USS_ _Titan_, Captain Riker's ship, in an attempt to assassinate Counselor Troi. They later attempted a similar attack on the _Enterprise_ in an effort to get us to turn over Counselor Troi and her daughter to them."

The Prime Minister looked distraught.

"I had no idea…. I mean, we're aware of their growing popularity, but that they would be so bold…or even have the resources…."

"That's the part we can't figure out, Minister," interjected Riker. "They've come into some fairly sophisticated equipment…the type you can't usually get through normal channels. And in addition to being rare, they're very expensive. Do you have any idea who might be backing them?"

The Prime Minister shook his head, regretfully.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but no. Like I said, they're showing up more and more on our intelligence, but we've never considered them a real threat…until now."

"With your permission, Minister, we would like to launch our own investigation," Picard told him. "The destruction of the _Titan_ cost sixty-seven lives, not to mention the continuing threat to Counselor Troi and her family, and now the loss of Ambassador Troi. The Federation Council has also expressed concern over the future of Betazed should the _jzatar_ begin to come into any real power. Starfleet has placed us on detached duty to get to the bottom of this. We hope to have your cooperation."

A measure of relief spread over the Prime Ministers features.

"Absolutely, Captain. We have always valued our membership in the Federation and we welcome any help you are able to give us to understand what is happening here. We are a democracy, Captain, and certainly people are free to voice their dissent and express their opinions. However, once they step over the bounds and begin to use illegitimate means to fund their viewpoints, we cannot permit it. I will alert our own forces as well. If you can help us get to the bottom of this, we would be grateful. While the Daughters of the Five Houses no longer hold any real power on Betazed, they are symbols of our long and noble past and are beloved of the people," he looked fondly upon Deanna. "We hope for the tradition to be able to continue for many generations to come. Your assistance is most welcomed."

As Riker escorted the Prime Minister to the transporter room, Picard turned to Deanna.

"Is there anything more you can tell me about the tradition of the Five Houses?" he asked her. "For example…what happens when a Daughter of one the of houses dies…what happens to the sacred object?"

This much Deanna knew she could help with. Her mother was nothing if not a traditionalist. The origins of the Five Houses had been taught to her since she was very young.

"It is pretty much as Prime Minister Jarkan said, Captain. The object is passed from mother to daughter, or from aunt to niece, in birth order, from oldest to youngest. Only if there is no female off-spring at all would it be passed to a son…or nephew. And then it is only held in trust until the next female is born."

Picard looked thoughtful.

"And the objects themselves…I've heard your mother speak of the Chalice many times. What are the others? Do you know anything of their origins?"

Deanna shook her head.

"They are all symbols of the segment of our society each house was responsible for. At one time the houses were very segregated; people never married outside of their original clan. But over time this taboo vanished and eventually all the houses intermarried—Betazed became a fully integrated society. As the Houses lost their distinction, the importance of the Sacred Objects diminished…except as a sort of historic holdover. On Betazed we honor our past, but we've never been particularly bound by it."

Picard smiled faintly.

"An ideology many cultures would benefit by adhering to, I'm sure. What about the sacred objects…are they all similar to the Chalice?"

Deanna thought back to her earliest school days and the holos of the Five Sacred Objects of Betazed. They had been on a test in the first year of school. Her mother had been mortified because she had gotten two of them wrong. It was a mistake Lwaxana made sure never happened again.

"The object of the First House is The Bountiful Horn of Daar. It's a large horn," Deanna denoted a size of about a meter with her hands. "It probably came from some ancestral animal of our Janaran rams. On earth it would have been like a horn of plenty. It symbolized the provision of food and the bounty of the planet.

"The Second House is the Holder of the Sacred Orb of Kavar. This is the House that was responsible for our early religion. The orb is made of a precious metal found only here on Betazed and is supposed to represent the infinite search for the sacred and the interconnectedness of all things."

"The Third House," asked Picard. "The Daughter was a friend of your mother's?"

Deanna smiled.

"Sorana Xerix and Mother were of an age, Captain. Their introduction into Betazed society came at the same time and their own mothers were…well, let's just say, if you think my mother is bad, you should have known my grandmother. Sorana was the Holder of the Revered Box of Xerix. Hers was the House of Healing—medicine and science. The Box was supposed to contain a collection of bitter herbs used by our ancestors to care for the sick."

"The Prime Minister said that the son of the last Daughter of the Fourth House had been killed during the war," stated Picard.

"Yes, Sark Enaren. He was the Scion of the Fourth House…holding the Blessed Books of Katara—that was his mother's name--until his daughter married. The Fourth House was the House of Justice and the books contained the earliest codified laws of our planet."

"I have a question, Deanna," Picard interrupted. "I've noticed that all the other Daughters share the name of their house…yet your mother does not. How is it she came to be the Daughter of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx?"

Now Deanna did have to smile.

"Captain, I think you know my mother well enough to understand that she is not…conventional. It is a Betazed tradition that women do not change their names when they marry…if anything, the husband take on his wife's' name. However, because my father was human, Mother chose to defy the tradition and adopt his name. As I understand it, my grandmother was quite put-out about the whole thing."

"So your mother's maiden name was Rixx?" asked Picard.

"Yes…she was born Lwaxana Rixx, Daughter of the Fifth House, the House of Knowledge and Understanding."

"And…forgive me for having to ask this, Deanna. If something were to happen to your mother, you and Kestra…to whom would the Chalice pass?"

Deanna swallowed hard at the question. She understood why the captain had to ask, but it didn't make the concept any easier to contemplate.

"I suppose it would go to my cousin, Aleena. She is my uncle's daughter."

Jean Luc looked surprised.

"I never knew you had an uncle," he told her.

"I'm afraid I never knew him. He died when I was an infant. His daughter was raised apart from our family. His wife…my aunt…was not a particularly pleasant person to be around. She and my mother had very little in common, apart from the fact that they each had a daughter. Aleena is actually several years older than I am."

Picard rose from his seat and walked over to the window where Betazed hung above them like a bauble dangling on a string.

"It seems to me," he said finally. "That there must be more to the role of Daughter of the Houses of Betazed than just a honorary title."

Deanna watched him.

"If there is, my mother never told me about it."

"The only other explanation would be that there is value in the objects themselves," he concluded.

Deanna studied her hands on the table.

"Captain, as far as I know, the Sacred Chalice of Rixx really is nothing but an old clay pot with some dirty old moss growing in it."

Picard turned to her.

"Your mother used to say something else…that she was Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and Heir…?"

"Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed," Deanna finished for him. "The Holy Rings are another of those historic holdover…although I can't say for sure what their origin is. I've only seen them twice in my life…Mother kept them in a secured vault. They were never brought out…even for special occasions. There are five of them…each a simple circle about four centimeters in diameter, and each one a slightly different color."

Deanna could practically see the wheels turning in Captain Picard's head. She knew his next question before he even asked it, and she knew she did not have an answer for him.

Before he could ask, however, Worf's voice interrupted them. They were receiving a hail from a group identifying themselves as the _jzatar_. Deanna felt the pit of her stomach drop. She realized that her presence on the _Enterprise_ was placing a second ship and crew in danger. It did not give her comfort.

Deanna followed Captain Picard's quick steps down to the bridge, but he held out his hand, signaling her to stop. It was obvious: he did not want them to have a visual of her on the bridge. She stayed along the console wall near the science stations where she knew the range of visual transmission did not cover. Not that it will do any good, she thought. They can sense my presence.

"We are the _jzatar_, the true heirs of Betazed. As you probably already know, we have in our custody Lwaxana Rixx, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx. We demand that you lower your shields and allow us to transport the half-breed Betazoid and her off-spring from your ship. If you do not, Lwaxana Rixx will be killed."

Picard glowered at the hooded figures. Deanna could feel his anger rising to an intensity she had not felt in him for a long time. She could tell he considered the anonymous figures to be cowards, and if there was anything Jean Luc Picard despised, it was cowardice.

"How is it that you think I will permit you to transport Deanna Troi and her daughter anywhere when you have already made known to us your intentions of executing them? In all likelihood you have already assassinated Lwaxana Troi or at the very least will do so once Deanna and her daughter are in your custody, just as you have the other Daughters of the Five Houses of Betazed," he accused them.

Deanna could tell they were surprised by his knowledge of their activities. Deanna made a motion to Picard and he signaled for the audio to be cut off.

"I don't think they're prepared to kill my mother," she told him hastily. "At least not yet. She still has something they want."

"Are you sure?" the captain asked her.

"Yes…very sure," Deanna replied.

Picard nodded in understanding and had the audio restored.

"However, we are willing to meet with you to discuss the matter. If you'd share with us your concerns, we could perhaps mediate with the Betazed Parliament and Prime Minister…."

The view screen went blank. Picard looked expectantly at Worf, who snarled and shook his head.

"They did not maintain the transmission long enough, Captain," he growled. "Someone has taught them well how not to be traced."

The communications channel beeped again. Worf looked down, surprised.

"They are hailing us again, Captain," he said, in disbelief.

"Just so we're clear, Captain Picard. Send down the half-breeds or Lwaxana of the House of Rixx dies."

The transmission ended abruptly again.

Picard looked at Deanna sympathetically.

"Counselor—would you join me in my ready room?" he asked quietly. Deanna could only nod. There was a surrealness about this whole situation that gave it nearly a nightmarish quality. Dazed, she followed the captain.

"Deanna—I know this is difficult for you. But, do you think you can set your personal concerns aside for the moment and tell me what you can about the individuals who are holding your mother?"

Deanna felt nearly nauseous. Her vision was swimming, her ears pounding. It wasn't just the threat to her mother's life or her own—it was something other than that. She closed her eyes and tried to let the sensations past, finally nodding in response to the captain's request. Still, it took her a moment to find a steady voice.

"The three who appear on the screen are all female," she began, trying to filter through the emotions and find the relevant pieces of information the captain would find useful. "They are fixated on their cause—they believe their actions have a greater moral imperative, so much so that they feel completely justified in their actions. Nothing will prevent them from carrying out their mission, not even the threat of death or death itself."

She paused a moment, concentrating.

"Captain," she said finally, fixing her eyes upon his so he would understand the implacability of the threat they were up against. "It is pointless to try to negotiate with them. What they are after can't be negotiated for, only acted upon by them. Their own safety—their own existence is a minor issue. It's not important to them. They will die trying to accomplish their goal."

The look on the captain's face told Deanna she had succeeded in illuminating the hopelessness of the situation. Someone would die. And as they stood, momentarily at least, at an impasse, it seemed that someone would be Lwaxana.

Deanna couldn't help it. She dropped her head and sobbed. She felt the captain put his arm around her, supporting her.

"Deanna…Deanna…listen to me. I know these type of people, believe me. They are extremists and fanatics. And if we cannot negotiate with them, then we must act—act to protect you and Kestra, and act to rescue your mother. As long as I have the means, I will not sit idly by and let them commit these heinous acts. Now…you said you did not believe they were ready to harm your mother just yet…that she has something they may want. Can you think of what that might be…why your mother is still alive and the other Daughters are not?"

Deanna knew her rational thoughts were clouded by her emotions at the moment and she took some deep breathes to try to steady herself. The captain was right, there had to be some piece of the puzzle they were overlooking…something that would explain all of this.

The red alert klaxon suddenly sounded. Picard bounded up and back onto the bridge. Riker was just entering from the turbo lift; Data relinquished the command chair to Captain Picard who called for a report.

"There is a vessel decloaking off the aft bow, Sir," reported Worf. "It registers as the same ship which attacked the _Titan_. They are attempting to utilized the harmonic shield disruptor!"

"Engage evasive shield modulation pattern, Mr. Data," instructed Picard. Data acknowledged and his fingers flew across the control padd.

"Mr. Worf," Picard ordered. "Lock on phasers and fire at will…I refuse to be a sitting duck this time."

Beams of phasers shot out from beneath the saucer of the _Enterprise_, striking the shields of the _jzatar_ vessel. Worf shook his head in frustration.

"No damage to the _jzatar_, Captain. We barely even affected their shields."

"Captain," exclaimed Worf a second later. "A Romulan Warbird is decloaking off the port bow!"

"On screen!" called the captain. Sure enough, there, hanging like a giant insect, was the menacing green of a Romulan vessel.

"Now the other shoe is dropped," muttered Picard, half to himself.

"The Romulan vessel is firing captain!" Worf informed him. The ship shook as a phaser blast dispersed along their shields.

"Keep those shields in place, Mr. Data," instructed Picard.

"I am trying, Sir. However, modulation of the shields does not have any benefit against the shield-lessening effect of disruptor fire. Our current shield strength is down to eighty-two percent."

The ship rocked again as another blast from the Romulan ship struck out against the _Enterprise_'s shields.

"Return fire, Mr. Worf," ordered Picard. "Arm quantum torpedoes. Fire!"

Bursts of light streaked through the darkness and they saw the Romulan ship shudder upon their impact.

"Romulan shields are down to eighty-six percent, Captain," said Worf with some satisfaction. However, a moment later, the _Enterprise_ lurched again, throwing several crewmen to the ground.

"Captain," reported Data. "That last blast reduced our shield strength to forty-two percent My efforts to maintain a random remodulation sequence are no longer successful. The harmonic shield disruptor will strip us of our shields…now," he said, looking up, rather startled.

Picard heard it first: the tingle of a transporter. Glancing around he saw the beam begin to form around Deanna. Will saw it too and cried out, running toward her, but Picard was closer. He threw himself into the beam, wrapping his arms securely around Deanna, and an instant later they were both gone.

"Worf!" yelled Riker, looking frantically at the Klingon.

"I'm trying, Captain!" bellowed the tactical officer. "_Sh'tek_!" Worf cursed and beat his fists on the control panel. He looked up with regret into Riker's disbelieving face.

Moments later, Beverly's voice, sounding uncharacteristically panicked, came over the comm.

"Crusher to the bridge…Captain…Kestra Riker has just been transported off the ship…."

Will Riker's cry of anguish was blood curdling as the Romulan and _jzatar_ ships cloaked and disappeared.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Will Riker paced up and down the length of the conference room like a lion in a cage. Watching him, Beverly couldn't help but think that she was glad the bulkheads were made out of titanium, otherwise she was sure Will would have put his fist through them by now. She knew how he felt. Part of her wanted to tear something apart too. She tried to take a deep cleansing breath and concentrate on what was being said. Watching Will, it was difficult.

The remaining senior staff of the _Enterprise_ had convened quickly following the disappearance of Jean Luc, Deanna and Kestra. Beverly had practically flown from sickbay, sick to her stomach with guilt over having Kestra beamed away while she was under her care. It was only when she had arrived on the bridge that the whole incident had become clear to her: Deanna was gone too, and Jean Luc along with her.

From the troubled looks on every face in the room, Beverly knew there was no immediate way to get them back. Efforts to lock on to their communicators had failed; they had either been disabled during transport or destroyed. She realized that, in spite of everything, she felt amazingly calm; whether she was indeed really calm or just trying to convince herself she was, she didn't know. She decided to be glad for small favors and focused on what Data was saying.

"Sir," he said to Riker. "You are the senior ranking officer on board. By all rights, you are now in command of the _Enterprise_."

Will stopped pacing long enough to grab the back of a chair and glare at the android.

"With all due respect, Mr. Data," he said bitingly. "I don't give a damn about the _Enterprise_ right now. I want my wife and my daughter and Jean Luc Picard back." He looked at Beverly and she realized they were now joined in this nightmare as they hadn't been before.

"But Sir," Data began to protest. Will cut him off, trying to make his response as calm as possible.

"Data…what I'm trying to say is…I don't think I can be very objective right at the moment. Your duty is to this ship and her crew. Mine is more…personal. You do what you have to do and I'll do what I have to do."

There was a desperate, almost menacing tone to his voice that made Beverly's blood run cold. She wasn't sure what Will had in mind, but she didn't think it would set well with Jean Luc or Starfleet. She felt it was time to speak up.

"Will…don't do anything foolish," she warned him. He spun around to look at her.

"Foolish?" he said sarcastically. "What me? Risk my career in Starfleet?" He began pacing again, stopped suddenly and turned back to her. "I tell you, Beverly—right at this moment, I don't give a damn about my career or Starfleet or the whole Federation. My entire life is somewhere out there…on that ship…or on that planet…I don't know. All I do know is that the rest of it doesn't matter one damn bit."

Beverly rose slowly and walked over to Will. He towered above her but she pulled herself up as tall as she could and looked him in the eye.

"My entire life is on that planet too, Will," she told him, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, her feeling of calm beginning to slip. "But let's think this through before we make matters worse."

Will studied her for a moment and she saw the blind rage in this eyes fade. He took a deep breath, bowed his head and nodded.

"Fine. Okay. Yes…you're right." He took another a deep breath and seemed more focused. "All right, everybody," he said, looking around. "I'm open to suggestions."

"The transporter beam did not originate from either ship, Captain," Worf reported. "It was generated from the planet. We've been able to pinpoint an approximate origin: it is in the southwest quadrant of the southern continent." He pressed a button and a three-dimensional map hovered over the table in front of them. Worf continued to zoom in until a small, highlighted section had filled the entire projection.

Riker studied it.

"Can you be more specific?" he asked the Klingon. Worf indicated the negative.

"Unfortunately, no. It could be anywhere within ten thousand square kilometers."

Riker sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Beverly returned to her seat. Ten thousand kilometers. It was the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Geordi turned to her.

"What about scanning for life signs, Doctor?" he asked. "Maybe biosignatures?"

Beverly shook her head.

"We're looking for a Betazoid on a planet filled with Betazoids. Even if Deanna is only half-Betazoid, that's not enough to distinguish her from all the other half-Betazoids on the planet. It's like trying to pick one human out of the population of earth."

Wesley spoke up.

"What about Captain Picard? He's a human among Betazoids."

Again, Beverly shook her head.

"There are a lot of humans on Betazed as well. Too many to filter through for a biosignature."

Will had resumed his pacing.

"If there were only something unique about any of them that we could scan for.…" she began. Beverly's mind ran over the unique characteristics of each of the three. No one on the ship knew their health and biological status any better than she, but she could not come up with a thing that the scans would detect.

Then it hit her. She looked up at Will with excitement.

"Kestra's ID bracelet!"

Will looked at her as though she'd just spoken Gorkon. Beverly went on to explain.

"Kestra was still wearing her sickbay ID bracelet—you know, Will—it's one of those holdovers from years ago when we used them to match mothers with the right babies. I only put it on Kestra so I could monitor her when she was in my office and I had to move around the rest of sickbay. We use it to take periodic readings of vital signs, nutritional needs, things like that. If we could calibrate the sensors to the ID bracelet's frequency, we should be able to pinpoint Kestra's location. Wherever she is, Deanna and the captain are probably there with her. Possibly even Lwaxana."

For the first time, Will seemed to relax.

"Let's do it… ." he ordered and then stopped. He glanced apologetically at Data. "Sorry, Data…I did just tell you that this command was yours, didn't I?"

Data smiled at him.

"Do not concern yourself about it, Captain. I wholly concur with the plan. Make it so."

Within minutes Beverly had provided Worf with the frequency of the bracelet. It took the tactical officer only a few moments to locate it on the surface: the signal was emanating from a subterranean structure in the middle of the city of Jaan.

Will looked expectantly at Data.

"With your permission, Mr. Data…."

Data gave him a nod.

"Good luck, Captain."

Will turned to Worf and Beverly could see that there was more going on between the two of them then was immediately obvious. Years ago they had made a pact that they would protect Deanna. Jean Luc's trip to the future had held a tragic end for the woman both these men loved, and they had taken it upon themselves to assure that future never happened. The fact that Deanna had married Will seemed to in no way diminish Worf's dedication to preserving her life. Beverly had to admit, there was something to be said for Klingon honor.

"Mr.Worf, send those coordinates to Transporter Room 1. Meet me there with a security detail in five minutes," ordered Will. A slight snarl, which Beverly recognized as the Klingon's smile, appeared at the corner of Worf's mouth.

"Aye, Captain," he replied.

Beverly felt her own determination kick in.

"I'm going with you too," she announced. Her eyes met Will's and she saw only a moment of hesitation before he assented.

"Don't forget your phaser," was all he said as he headed for the transporter room.

The _Enterprise_ Away Team beamed onto the designated coordinates in classic defensive posture: some crouched low, others standing, their backs to one another, ready to meet any assault. What greeted them, however, was an empty room—empty of people, that is. It appeared to be a basement of some kind, perhaps a storage room, judging by the variety of containers stacked all around.

Beverly immediately holstered her phaser and brought out her tricorder, scanning the room. It was dimly lit and cluttered enough to have several excellent areas where their quarry could be concealed, but Beverly frowned. The tricorder was registering no life signs except for several small rodent-like creatures scurrying along the darkened edges. She was about to recalibrate the device to scan for Kestra's bracelet frequency when she saw Will reach down and pick something up off the ground. He turned to Beverly, the small object laying flat on his palm. It was the bracelet.

Beverly hurried to the spot where it had lain and began a new tricorder scan. She could hear Will holding his breath until she was finished. She had barely realized it but she was holding her own breath as well. When the tricorder had finished its analysis she sat back on her heels and heaved a sigh of relief.

"There is no DNA residue, Captain. It looks like the bracelet was just removed and dropped here."

Will shook his head, relieved but disappointed.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed. "There's got to be some clue here as to where they've gone. Everyone…look around."

The security team fanned out, exploring the room. From what Beverly could tell, there was every evidence that people had been here, even if they weren't now. Blankets were bunched up along one side, odds and ends of furniture were scattered about. There were even empty food containers, some with remnants of relatively fresh food still inside.

"Commander…" one of the security officers summoned Worf. He, Will and Beverly gathered around his finding: several pairs of security handcuffs, Betazoid in origin. Beverly let her tricorder work again, but shook her head.

"They have Betazoid DNA on them," she reported. "But that's all I can tell you. None of them match Deanna's."

She saw Will nod grimly. Now that they weren't in a fight for their lives or calling for body bags, he seemed to be thinking more strategically.

"Mr. Worf…where are we, exactly?" he asked the tactical officer. Worf examined his padd.

"It is a business district, Captain," he said, upon consultation of the device. "Above us should be a store specializing in…" he glanced up at Will. "Chocolate," he finished. "Our records indicate it is no longer in operation."

"Probably because Deanna hasn't been home to Betazed in two years," replied Will under his breath. He tried to smile at Beverly and she appreciated the fact that he could even muster such a small joke under the circumstance. She returned the smile.

"So," continued Will, looking around some more. " The question is, did they leave on foot or were they beamed out of here?"

Worf used his tricorder and had an answer a few moments later.

"If they beamed out, it would have been within the last 20 minutes. I am reading the transporter echo of our beam-in, and a fainter one as well."

"That could have been when they beamed the three of them off the _Enterprise_," Beverly pointed out.

"Agreed, Doctor," Worf concurred. "While I cannot say for certain, it is my best guess that they probably left on foot."

"Then they can't have gone far," Will said. "There has to be a door out of this place. Let's find it."

It only took a minute using their hand lights to find the exit. Worf tried the handle but it had been locked from the outside. With a confirming nod from Will, Worf and one of the security officers leveled their phasers at the locking mechanism and fired. The metal grew bright yellow and then red before dissolving into a molten state and finally evaporating. The door swung slowly open revealing a stairway up.

As Beverly passed through the doorway, her tricorder beeped. She had set it to run continual scans for Jean Luc's biosignature.

"Will…" she called. He stopped and came back down the stairs.

"What is it?" he asked quickly. Beverly pointed. On the door jamb was a mark. In the darkness it was difficult to see, but when Will shone his light on it, the dark brown stain stood out. Beverly checked her tricorder again. The readings repeated themselves. There was no mistaking it.

"It's blood," she told Will, trying to keep the panic out of her own voice. "It's the captain's blood."

"Come on," he said, steering her up the stairs. "We'll find them. Let's go."

And with that they ascended into the light of day.

No sooner had the transporter beam rearranged his molecules back into their proper order than Jean Luc felt a rough hand haul him away from Deanna. A wailing sound assaulted his ears and it took him a moment to realize it was the sound of an infant, crying inconsolably. It took him another moment to recognize that the crying infant was Kestra Riker who was lying on the ground about two meters away. Deanna lunged for her daughter but one of their abductors stepped purposefully in front of her, aiming a disruptor at point blank range. Deanna halted but Jean Luc could feel her anguish as Kestra continued to cry.

The individual who had severed Jean Luc from Deanna maintained a firm grip on his upper arm. Another person, a young man about Wesley Crusher's age, reached over and snagged the communicators from his and Deanna's uniforms dropping them to the floor and vaporizing them with a single disruptor blast. He then walked over to Picard and looked him up and down. Jean Luc's eyes were adjusting to the dimness of the room and he recognized that they were in some sort of sublevel of a building, probably a basement. An assortment of cartons and containers were scattered about, as though its primary function was storage. At least they were on the planet, he thought, and not on one of the assaulting ships. It increased their likihood of being found.

"Well, well. Look who came along for the ride," said the Betazoid male, waving his disruptor under Picard's nose.

"Please," pleaded Deanna. "Let me go to my daughter…."

"Stay where you are, half-breed," ordered the Betazoid woman who had stepped in front of her. She still pointed the disruptor at Deanna.

"Aw, let her pick it up," said the third abductor who held Picard's arm so tightly he could feel the circulation being pinched off. "Anything to stop that noise!"

Kestra was in full wail now. Not only was it ear-piercing, but Picard realized it was likely to draw attention, especially if this were a building expected to be deserted. The female Betazoid seem to come to the same conclusion and she stepped aside.

"Pick up the kid," she directed Deanna. Deanna rushed forward and scooped Kestra off the floor, holding her tightly. The loud wailing ceased, but Kestra continued to make small, distressing sound. "Wait a minute…" the female Betazoid stuck out her disruptor and aimed it at Kestra's flailing arm. "What's that?"

Deanna turned ashen at the sight of the weapon so close to her daughter.

"It's…it's her id bracelet from the nursery…." She began.

"Take it off," instructed the woman. Deanna fumbled with the bracelet with one hand, finally managing to open it. "Drop it," the woman told her. Deanna did as told. The bracelet clattered to the ground.

The Betazoid who had the disruptor trained on Picard turned to the woman.

"What shall I do with this one? Kill him?"

She scowled at him.

"No, you idiot! Don't you know who he is? He's the _Enterprise_'s captain. Magda will be wanting to see him."

The one who had Picard's arm twisted it even tighter.

"Maybe that Romulan will want him too," he offered. Picard winced in pain. Another twist and his shoulder would be dislocated.

"Will you shut up?!" exclaimed the Betazoid female in exasperation. "You're both the biggest…." But she didn't finish her thought. Her eyes had rested on Picard, and she seemed to realize that he had been paying very close attention to every word of their dialogue. Striding over to him she suddenly raised her arm and struck him across the face. "Mind your own business, Human," she hissed.

"I'm afraid, at the moment, this is my business," replied Picard, feeling a trickle of blood seep down from his nose.

The woman smirked at him, "Yes, I suppose it is."

Kestra, who Picard thought had been doing inordinately well through all of this, started to whimper rather loudly again. Obviously it was a sound that did not set with the Betazoid woman. She turned around on Deanna and said threateningly, "Shut her up, will you?!"

Deanna spoke soothing words to Kestra and rocked her, holding her close. The child immediately responded and quieted. The Betazoid woman nodded in satisfaction.

"That's better," she said. "All right, you two. This way. And don't try anything funny."

"I want to see my mother," demanded Deanna. Picard admired her tone of voice and the fact that she wasn't showing fear in front of their abductors. He knew her too well, though, to have any doubts about the terror she harbored within.

"Oh don't worry," replied the woman with a nasty laugh. "That's exactly where we're going. And I can tell you…your mother's been dying to see you!" The other two Betazoids laughed. The male with the disruptor went into the shadows and emerged with two sets of handcuffs. As his partner let go of Jean Luc's arms, he grabbed them and twisted them in the opposite direction, snapping on the restraints quickly around Picard's wrists. He then turned to similarly bind Deanna, but realized if they did so, one of them would be forced to carry the baby. It was apparently a job no one wanted. The female stuck her disruptor against Kestra's temple. Picard could practically see Deanna blood freeze.

"You try even a twitch at escaping and I'm aiming for this child. Do I make myself clear?" she asked.

The cold rage in Deanna's heart made its way to her voice "Quite," she replied, glaring at the other woman.

The male behind him gave Picard a shove forward. With the unexpected propulsion, Jean Luc stumbled over the scattered debris on the floor and fell against a wall of exposed ductwork. He groaned slightly as his bound hands, reaching out to try to stabilize him, had hit a jagged metal edge. As a thin line of blood formed on the cut, Picard had a moment of inspiration.. As their abductors hauled him to his feet and shoved him forward through the open door, he feigned stumbling, leaning on the door jamb for support. To his satisfaction, he saw that he had left a small but noticeable smear of blood behind. Just call me Hansel, he thought wryly as he worked his hands together to keep the blood from clotting.

Before they left what looked like an abandoned sweetshop, someone placed a cloak over his binders to hide them from prying eyes. Picard kept his hand turned down, lest one of their captors should notice his efforts. The cloak was actually a blessing—it permitted him to keep squeezing his hands, successfully dripping blood on the sidewalk every few meters. As long as we keep walking, Picard thought, we're fine. He was relieved to see them pass a long line of waiting hover taxis and continue their slow and careful walk.

Thankfully, not more than ten minutes later they entered another building. Picard's hand hurt like the devil and a scab was forming over the wound, but he managed to scrape it against the doorway as they entered and was rewarded with another small smear of his blood. If the _Enterprise_ was able to locate their beam down location, he thought, then his little trail of breadcrumbs would be helpful, especially if Beverly were with them. He knew her tricorder would be quick to pick up the blood trail. At the moment, it was the only hope they had.

A few minutes later, however, that hope was all but dashed as they stepped into a room that held nothing but a transporter pad. Seconds later he and Deanna and Kestra were beamed to a place where no amount of blood would help them.

"What's the matter, Captain? Never heard of hiding in plain sight?" The mocking voice echoed in the grand entrance foyer of an elegantly appointed Betazoid home. Picard turned to see a slight figure watching him. She was Betazoid, with large dark eyes and hair as dark as Deanna's. But there was a frailty to her that belied her demeanor.

As Picard assessed his surroundings, he realized he had been in this place before when they had come for Will and Deanna's wedding. The _jzatar_ woman had been right about hiding in plain sight. Certainly the one place they never would have thought to look for Lwaxana Troi was in her own house. Picard glanced at Deanna, who likewise seemed stunned at their location. The original Troi house had been destroyed by the Dominion, but Lwaxana had been quick to rebuild. Picard could still recall their conversation at the wedding:

"As Daughter of the Fifth House, Jean Luc, I do need to maintain a certain image. I simply can't be expected to continue living in those dreadful Federation-issue habitats. The people of Betazed need to know that they can come back from this crisis, and they will look to those of us whom they hold in high esteem to be the model for their recovery."

Even as the memory of that now long-ago dinner came back to him, a cry from the top of the grand staircase caused them all to turn. Lwaxana herself came hurrying down the stairs, two other _jzatar_ guards close on her heels.

"Deanna! Oh my Darling, I'm so sorry!" she cried, hurrying toward her daughter. Two of the guards who had beamed in with them stepped in front of the woman, their disruptors drawn, causing her to draw up short.

"Oh for heaven' sakes put those things away." She pushed past them. "You've got a dozen guards posted throughout the house, what do you think I'm going to do? Grab them and run out the door?" Startled at being dismissed so summarily, the _jzatar_ guards stepped aside and Lwaxana ran to Deanna. Picard allowed himself to at least enjoy the moment of their reunion. There was some satisfaction in knowing that Lwaxana was still alive…and her old self.

Lwaxana embraced Deanna and with her free arm Deanna hugged her mother. Kestra made little cooing sounds and Lwaxana stepped back to admire the baby, tears running down her face.

"A girl?" she asked. Deanna, unable to speak, nodded her tear-stained faced.

"Kestra," she finally managed to say, with a sad smile. Lwaxana's hand flew to her throat.

"Oh my!" she choked, more tears escaping from the corners of her eyes. "Oh my Little One!" she cried again, holding Deanna and Kestra while sobs shook her. It took a few moments before she seemed to realize Picard was even there.

"Jean Luc!" Lwaxana exclaimed, wiping her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Picard had to smile. Only Lwaxana could make his presence seem as though he'd crashed an afternoon tea party.

"We came to find you, Lwaxana," he replied simply. She gave him one of her piercing looks.

"Well, you're most efficient as usual. Here I am."

"Mother," Deanna said sternly. "What is going on? Do you have any idea what this is all about?"

Lwaxana looked at her sadly. "I'm afraid I do, Darling. And I'm so sorry you got dragged into all of this. I tried to keep them from you, I did. And I tried to keep you from this whole business altogether. But you are my daughter, after all, and you were bound to find out about it eventually. It's your destiny, I'm afraid."

"Lwaxana…" asked Picard, a wariness growing in his mind. "You're not working with these people, these _jzatar_, are you?"

Lwaxana's look of horror was all the answer he needed. Still he was relieved to hear her reply.

"Oh my heavens no! What kind of a monster do you think I am, Jean Luc? It's from people like this that we've been protecting Betazed from for all these millennium. But somehow, something's changed. They've gotten the upper hand and I haven't a clue how they've managed it."

The slight Betazoid woman, who Picard had correctly analyzed as being the leader, stepped forward impatiently.

"Enough of this. We have everything we need now. The sooner we get started the sooner we can restore Betazed to it's rightful order. Daughter of Rixx, you will get the Holy Rings now, or before your eyes your daughter and granddaughter will die."

Lwaxana sagged visibly. Instead of the vibrant woman Picard had always known—and tried to avoid—she seemed suddenly old and tired and beaten.

"Oh, very well," she said meekly. Lwaxana with her guards in tow walked over to a painting on the wall and pressed a concealed button. Instantly the painting, a hologram, vanished and a vault in the wall was exposed. Entering a sequence of numbers into the pad on the vault, Lwaxana stepped back and waited. After a series of clicks and a whirring sound, the door slid back. Reaching inside, Lwaxana removed a modest wooden box and handed it to the _jzatar_ leader. Unmoved, the woman handed it back to Lwaxana.

"Open it," she commanded Lwaxana. Deanna's mother shrugged, and without protest she opened the lid of the box, removing from it what appeared to be several rings tied together with a silver ribbon. The Holy Rings of Betazed, thought Picard. He tried to count them and thought he added up five as Lwaxana handed them over to the _jzatar_ woman who looked at them carefully.

"Excellent," she said once she seemed satisfied the rings were as promised. "Now, let us proceed with the ceremony."

None too gently the guards directed Lwaxana, Jean Luc and Deanna with Kestra into an adjacent room—the dining room. Picard recalled the dinner Lwaxana had served his senior staff here the night before the Betazed ceremony. For a few hours, at least, they'd been able to put the sorrow of Data and the threat of Shinzon behind them as they'd laughed and shared stories with Deanna's mother and friends. That evening seemed a bitter mockery to what he saw now: four solemn-faced women sat across from each other in the middle section of the long table, each with an armed _jzatar_ guard behind them, each with an object on the table in front of them. One chair was empty although its object awaited an owner. It was the Sacred Chalice of Rixx.

An armed guard also stood behind the empty chair. Standing next to him was a another Betazoid woman and Picard heard Deanna gasp when she recognized her.

"Aleena?" asked Deanna, incredulously. The woman acknowledged her.

"Hello, Deanna. It's been a long time. Why don't you come sit down. We've been saving this seat for you."

Deanna looked with confusion at Lwaxana.

"Mother, I don't understand…."

Lwaxana laid a comforting hand on Deanna's shoulder.

"I know, Dear. It's a very long story. Just do as they say for now. Give me Kestra."

Reluctantly, Deanna passed her daughter to Lwaxana and took the seat the woman named Aleena had designated.

"Is that your daughter?" Picard heard Aleena ask her. Deanna nodded.

"Yes."

Perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought this news caused the woman named Aleena some measure of discomfort. He saw her glance at the _jzatar_ leader but her look was ignored.

Picard turned his attention to what was happening at the table. He studied the objects in front of the five seated women. Besides the Chalice of Rixx he was able to identify the Horn of Daar, the Orb of Kavar, the Box of Xerix and the Books of Katara. The women, he realized, were the heirs of the Daughters of each of the Houses of Betazed—now, obviously Daughters themselves, since their mothers or aunts—or in the case of the young Katara woman, her uncle—were dead. The only exception of course was Deanna, whose mother stood hail and hearty next to him. At least for the moment.

But why not kill her? He found himself wondering. What made Lwaxana different from the other Daughters? It was the same question he'd puzzled over before. But now that he was watching the beginnings of what the _jzatar_ leader had referred to as a ceremony, he thought he began to understand.

The _jzatar_ leader had untied the silver ribbon and was placing on the table in front of each of the five women one of the rings. The color of the ring seemed to match the color of the object each had in front of them. It was the rings, Picard concluded. Only Lwaxana could access the rings. Without them, this ceremony—whatever it is—would not work.

Of the five women at the table, only Deanna seems confused. The others merely looked numb, resigned, as if they already knew what lay ahead and had accepted their fate. He tried to throw Lwaxana a questioning look, but she was holding Kestra over her shoulder and rocking her, making it impossible for him to make eye contact.

"You will now activate your device," directed the leader of the _jzatar_. Slowly and reluctantly, but ultimately obediently, each of the four other women picked up the ring and the object in front of them. After studying them briefly each woman found a location in the object where the ring fit. Soon all the objects, despite their seemingly simple appearance, were humming as some unseen technology within them was activated.

The only one who had not moved was Deanna.

"You…half-breed. Activate the Chalice," demanded the _jzatar_ leader.

Deanna glared at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied. Lwaxana turned to the _jzatar_ leader.

"I told you, Magda…she doesn't know anything about this!"

The leader's eyes were filled with disdain and a look of disgust crossed her unpretty face.

"You're as pitiful as she is!" she spat at Lwaxana. "Do you mean she knows nothing of what she holds? What kind of Daughter are you, not to pass this on to her, even if she is only half-Betazoid? You are as unworthy as she is to be the Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx. So much better it will be when Aleena can take your place!"

"Mother…" began Deanna, but Lwaxana silenced her.

"Quiet, Deanna." She spoke firmly to the leader, Magda. "Now listen here…she has been imprinted on it. Let me just show her and then it will work—provided, of course, that you didn't damage it in your crude capture of us aboard that Ferengi vessel."

Magda glared at Lwaxana and then motioned her to step up to the table.

"Very well Show her. Then we will imprint Aleena and be done with all of you."

Lwaxana met Picard's eyes as she turned toward the table and he realized that she was, in fact, working on some sort of plan. He hadn't a clue as to what it is…or what exactly was going on—although he was starting to have some idea--but at least now he knew that something was going to happen. He would be prepared.

At Deanna's side, Lwaxana instructed her to pick up the chalice

"Place your thumb here, Deanna," she told her daughter. "No…here, where there's that little indentation. Good," she said when Deanna had found the appropriate spot. "Now take the ring and turn the Chalice over. See that circle there?" Deanna nodded. "The ring should fit into it," Lwaxana concluded.

From his vantage point, Picard saw Deanna slide the ring into the circle Lwaxana had pointed out and set the chalice down. The object remained silent and still. The others around it continued to vibrate and hum.

"Why isn't it working?" demanded the Magda, angrily.

Lwaxana remained calm.

"Deanna, Darling. Check to make sure the ring is fitting snuggly."

Deanna checked the position and the secureness of the ring and looked up at her mother.

"It is," she replied.

Lwaxana took a chalice from her and gave it a good shake. Turning it upside down, she fiddled with the ring some more before setting it upright back on the table. Still, nothing happened.

Lwaxana shrugged.

"Well, it's obvious. Just as I feared, when you assaulted me on that Ferengi ship you must have damaged it. It is 5000 year old technology, after all. Why do you think we've been so careful with these things all these years?"

The _jzatar_ leader stepped threateningly nearer.

"That's ridiculous. It can't be damaged! Without it, the system is incomplete. It won't yield the data we need."

"Well, I warned you to be careful with it," responded Lwaxana, testily. Picard was amazed at her brazenness. It had struck a nerve with Magda.

"Be quiet!" she snapped before furrowing her brow in thought. "Maybe she's not the one we need to activate it. Maybe you never imprinted her on the Chalice," she mused.

Lwaxana maintained her disdainful attitude.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I did. She's my daughter, isn't she? I remember distinctly. It was on her first birthday. Every daughter of the Holders is imprinted on their birthday. If nothing else, we do cling to our traditions."

Deanna's cousin spoke up.

"She was imprinted. I was there. I remember," said Aleena.

Lwaxana pointed at her.

"There. You see?"

Magda stepped threateningly close to Lwaxana.

"Then perhaps it is not working because YOU are still breathing," she hissed. "Perhaps because she is not yet the heir of the Sacred Chalice her imprint does not yet work."

"I assure you that has nothing…oh my!" Lwaxana's bluster faded instantly. All the disruptors in the room were now pointed at her. Picard could tell by the look on her face that this was one outcome she had not anticipated. Whatever she had done to disable the chalice, she had not counted on being thought of as the impediment to its functioning. He realized too that Lwaxana was still holding Kestra. Given what had happened to the Titan, he knew their captors would have no compunction at vaporizing both of them. He could have felt Deanna's raw anguish if his own hadn't been so great. He had to do something.

"Wait! he cried, taking a half step toward Lwaxana and drawing half the disruptors in his direction. He had at least gotten their attention. "Before you murder the one person who may actually be able to help you, let me look at it. If it's some kind of technology perhaps I can fix it…or at least figure out why it's not working properly."

He saw gratitude on Lwaxana's face as she clutched Kestra even closer. Picard had the sense she would have tried to throw the infant to him, had her fate been sealed, but the likelihood of Kestra getting caught in the crossfire by one of the beams was too high. He would rather find a way to keep them both alive.

Magda was mulling over his offer. Finally she nodded and at her signal the disruptors were lowered slightly. Picard approached the table where Deanna sat trembling. Pulling up a chair, he sat next to her and picked up the artifact to examine it. Gently he laid his hand on her shaking arm. Grateful dark eyes met his as he tried to give her a reassuring smile. If he could not figure a way out of this, he knew Will would never forgive him. He wasn't sure he would be able to forgive himself if any harm befell Deanna or Kestra. They had, after all, been beamed off his ship.

Picard cleared his throat and turned his attention to the chalice. Self-recrimination, at this point, was useless and certainly non-productive. He had no idea what Lwaxana had planned; what he did know was that Will and the Enterprise would be searching for them by every means possible and he needed to stall Magda long enough for their efforts to bear fruit.

For all the years he had heard of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, he had never seen it, let alone touched it. As a student of archeology Picard had handled many ancient artifacts from cultures and civilization across the galaxy. There was a common feel and texture to objects of great age, as if time itself had seeped into their very molecules and was somehow tangible. Often he felt as if he could feel the centuries and millennia themselves in the pieces he had held.

Which was why he knew this piece was different. Although it looked old, and in many ways felt old, to fingers as experienced as his, and an eye as trained as his, Picard knew the moment he touched it that the chalice was a forgery…a replicated piece. At best it was months old, not 5000 years. A quick glance at Lwaxana found her eyes pleading with him not to reveal the secret. He understood. Somehow, at some time, in fear of just this moment, she had switched the chalices. The other artifacts on the table were real…that much was obvious by how they had responded to the rings being placed in them. But to thwart the _jzatar_ from their goal—whatever that goal was—she had created a fake which would prevent the entire system from being activated. It was up to him, now, to play along.

"Well," he said slowly, as if giving the matter great thought. "I must say, I've certainly never seen anything like this." He turned the object over again in his hand as if admiring it. "The simple design and construction certainly belie the technology imbedded within. There are several cultures which have employed simplistic, often everyday items, as icons, most notably the Fuezella. Recent findings there have turned up an entire temple filled with objects most people would find mundane, yet which to the Fuezellans must have represented objects of power whose significance we can only speculate on." He was babbling, he realized; he sounded like Data when the android would take off on a tangent of minutia. Picard knew he could only take this tack for so long; the_ jzatar's _patience was palpably thin.

"The ring must act like a key," he explained, continuing his examination. "Possibly it connects certain circuits so that the energy flow can be continuous, thereby initiating some sort of start-up sequence. It may be that each piece requires a different alloy, thus the variation in color among the rings and the specificity of each ring to each object."

His in-depth analysis was not finding an appreciative audience.

"Yes, yes," sputtered Magda. "We don't need a lecture in electronics. Can you get it to work?"

Picard made as if to study the chalice more closely. He held it up to the light for several moments. He peered at its base. He removed and reinserted the ring. He shook it, lightly at first, and then more vigorously.

"I'm not sure," he said, finally. "Perhaps if you tell me what its supposed to do when it is activated, I can figure it out. At the moment it's rather like trying to put together a puzzle when you don't know what the picture is."

Magda gestured toward the other objects on the table with her disruptor.

"It should sound like the others," she replied.

Picard gave an exasperated look.

"That much was obvious, thank you. But can you tell me what is supposed to happen after that? Is there some sort of data retrieval device it fits into?"

For the first time in the whole drama, the _jzatar_an leader looked uncertain. It gave Picard some hope.

"I…I don't know," she confessed. "But you do." She turned to Lwaxana. "Tell us. What happens next?"

Lwaxana gave her an angry look.

"How do I know?" she answered sharply. "Do you think we've ever activated them? It was our solemn duty to make sure they _weren't_ activated. Why would we ever dream of testing them out?"

Picard felt that he was beginning to get to the bottom of this mystery, even if he could not activate the bogus chalice.

"I assume, then, that you at least know what they are," he pressed. "What precisely is it that they are supposed to reveal?"

Lwaxana was silent. Grimly so, Picard thought The _jzataran_ leader jerked her head at her.

"Tell him," she ordered. Lwaxana fairly shot arrows with her look.

"I will not!" retorted Lwaxana. "He's an outsider. He has no business knowing these things!"

Finally Deanna spoke up. Picard noted that her trembling had stopped. In its place, now that Kestra was momentarily safe, was an angry determination. He wasn't sure if Deanna had caught on yet to her mother's ruse, but he could tell that her displeasure with her mother's failure to share the chalice's true meaning was giving her strength.

"Then tell me, Mother," she demanded forcefully. "What is this thing? What it is that everyone is dying for?"

Lwaxana looked sorrowfully at her daughter. There was true regret written in her face.

"I'm so sorry, Deanna…I heard about Will's ship…," she began.

"Tell her!" shouted Magda, her patience nearly gone. Lwaxana sighed.

"Oh all right!" she replied testily. "It's a very long story, where would you like me to begin?"

Deanna rolled her eyes.

"How about at the beginning?"

Lwaxana shrugged.

"That far back? Well, if you insist. As I'm sure you remember from your history classes, Betazed was originally led by five clans…or houses, as they were called. Each house was responsible for overseeing some aspect of Betazed culture: healing, justice…."

Deanna interrupted.

"Providing, knowledge and the sacred. Yes, I know, Mother," she said with exasperation.

"Very good, dear," she commended her daughter with a small smile. She shifted Kestra to a different position and went on. "Well, what most people do not know, is that these houses were created by a progenitor race who genetically engineered each Betazed house specifically for the purpose for which it was created."

Picard had to respond to this.

"Genetically engineered?" he repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, Jean Luc." Lwaxana nodded. "Those in the House of Katara were designed with specific genes that made them excel at making laws and dealing with infractions to those laws. The healers were created with genetic abilities in medicine and care giving. It was the same with all the houses. Each was a genetic biosphere unto itself, placed on this planet to create a society where all had purpose, all had something to contribute, all had the resources they needed within themselves to become fully integrated into the community. Even our common telepathic ability was genetically engineered. It was the one single trait that bound all five houses together."

Picard mused on this.

"But over time…" he began. Lwaxana anticipated his observation.

"You're right of course," she said. "Over time, as our society developed, the natural evolution within our houses took shape. Intermarriage between houses, forbidden for centuries, eventually became accepted. The gene pools merged. New talents were discovered—art, music, exploration—things borne of the commingling of those traits from which we had started. Before long, the significance of the five houses was forgotten and the facts of our origins faded with time. No one remembered that long ago past and it vanished completely."

Picard was beginning to understand fully now.

"But not really completely," he said knowingly. Lwaxana nodded.

"The creators of Betazed left behind the genetic code for each original house. This code was contained within a common looking object, the sacred object of each house. As our society developed and the past was forgotten, one family within each house was selected to be the Holder of the sacred object—to pass the knowledge of our origins on to the next generation, along with the secret of how to access the information contained within the object. When a daughter is born into each Holder household, her fingerprint is imprinted on the object. When she marries, and is capable of producing the next generation of Holders, she is passed the secret of the sacred object. When her mother dies, she becomes the Holder, and the cycle repeats. It has been this way for 5000 years."

"Mother…" said Deanna, half with irritation, half with awe. "Why didn't you ever tell me about this?

The sorrowful look returned to Lwaxana's face.

"Because I didn't want to burden you with this, Deanna," she said apologetically. "I saw in you what my mother refused to see in me: a desire to break free of the trappings of the Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, Keeper of the Holy Rings of Betazed. I tried to escape when I married your father…but he died too young, and I was alone, with a child and no place to go except back home. But I promised myself then that I would be the last Daughter…that I would set you free from this burden…that you would never know the yoke of its responsibility."

"And in doing so you would have betrayed Betazed, and the sacred knowledge that was entrusted to you," accused Magda. "Not that you hadn't already betrayed it by mating with a human," she added, vindictively.

Picard saw the anger blaze in Lwaxana's eyes. Before this escalated further he needed to intervene.

"So…when all of these are activated..." he began, trying to turn the discussion back to less personal matters. Lwaxana pulled out of the vitriolic spiral she had been about to spin into. She shook her head a little, as to rid herself of the emotions.

"They should generate a holographic image of the genetic code for each of the original five houses of Betazed. The recipe for creating 100 percent 'pure' Betazoids, unpolluted by intermarriage, either among the houses or with other races in the galaxy," she said simply, but with a sarcastic edge to her voice.

The _jzataran_ leader spoke up.

"You see, Captain, those of us who belong to the _jzatar_ are not just disgusted by the pollution of our Betazoid race by outsiders. We ourselves are genetically pure descendents of the original five houses. There were those who refused to be lured into the sin of intermarriage. We kept our houses separate and unspoiled, generation, after generation, for 5000 years. And now we wish to restore those houses to their original glory."

Picard was puzzled.

"Then why do you need these codes? If you're pure Betazoid, then why not just map your own DNA?"

The woman smiled condescendingly, as though she were talking to a being of inferior intelligence.

"You need to brush up on your genetics, Captain. Over time there is always genetic drift. Minor mutations here and there. Although we have kept ourselves pure, our bodies have spontaneously altered themselves over time. With the original genetic codes we can resequence our DNA back to its purist state and then create a whole new Betazoid race that is clean and unspoiled."

The implications of her simple words brought a cold dawn of realization to Picard. How many times had history recorded the expression of a similar desire by madmen going back millennia.

"You're speaking of a master race," he said in horror.

"We're speaking of the only race, Captain. The only race Betazed has ever needed or ever will need," she told him.

Final comprehension hit him. Magda and her group were planning no less than mass murder of an entire civilization.

"So…when you say you intend to purge Betazed of non-pure Betazoids…" he began. Magda was only too happy to supply the most dreaded of conclusions.

"Oh—right now the people think we mean those like her and her child," she said, indicating Deanna and Kestra. "But our support is growing. And once we have the codes, and have begun creating our purified race…we will begin Betazed anew, as it was meant to be."

"You're talking of genocide," he said bluntly. The _jzataran_ woman shook her head.

"How can it be genocide, Captain?" she asked. "They're not a race of people! They're a bunch of mongrels, mating and procreating without any thought, any consideration of how great they once were, how great they were meant to be."

Now Picard could not contain his own anger. Hitler. Bin Laden. Kahn. Kodos. Gorn. All of them had seen anyone different from their self-image of perfection as little more than vermin to be exterminated. Now it seemed that Betazed would add these maniacs to the shameful list of those who undertook such reprehensible acts.

Not if he could help it.

"Did it ever occur to you," he shouted, rising from the table. "That the creators of Betazed intended it to be that way--that they wanted the houses, over time, to merge and become integrated? I would argue that the greatness of Betazed comes from its diversity, not from its homogeneity! With diversity you have innovation, creativity, risk-taking, advancement. When all things remain the same, a society will stagnate, become mired in its own self-importance and eventually die. I would contend that Betazed developed as it was meant to…and that, over time, you will see the same thing happen again, regardless of how 'pure' you desire it to be!"

The _jzataran_ leader pushed forward and put herself right in Picard's face.

"No!" she declared vociferously. "No! We have the past to learn from, and it will not happen again! We were a great people once, and we will be again. Now, fix that thing or I will kill Lwaxana to assure that there are no impediments to its proper activation!"

Magda swung her arm around and pointed her disruptor straight at Lwaxana. Kestra whimpered in her grandmother's arms. Fighting back his own angry response, Picard knew he had stalled as long as he possibly could with talk. Now he understood, horribly so, what was at stake here, but he was running out of options. At best, he could try to buy a little more time by pretending to tinker with the phony device. He didn't dare look at his chrono to see how long it had been since they'd left the _Enterprise_. Hope was fading that Will would locate them.

Picard glanced with regret at Deanna. There were tears in her eyes and he knew she had come to the same conclusion he had. No matter what happened, they could never allow these devices to be activated. As it stood, it was apparent only Deanna and her mother, at the moment, held that power. Without them—as long as the device hadn't been imprinted on someone else—the chalice was useless.

Picard knew he had asked his crew to put their lives on the line many times for the greater good. They had done it without question or complaint. It was, however, an entirely different matter to take their lives himself for that greater good. He was not sure he could live with that decision. He hoped he didn't have to.

Picking up the chalice again, it studied it thoroughly.

"If it is supposed to transmit a holographic image," he mused aloud. "Then there must be some type of projection device." He glanced at Lwaxana. She was making a cup out of one hand and inconspicuously poking her finger into the center of it with her other hand. Picard examined the interior of the bowl and peeled away a little of the moss growing at the bottom. It was then that he spotted the small explosive device. It wasn't very powerful, he guessed, but it was enough to cause a diversion so that perhaps they could catch one of the _jzatar_ off-guard and grab a disruptor. Still it has to be used at just the right time.

He went back to examining the moss.

"Has this moss always grown here?" he asked, tilting the chalice as if trying to see it in a better light. "I mean, is it an integral part of the Chalice or just something that has come to it with age? I was thinking perhaps it could be clogging some key element of the circuit."

Magda made a sudden move.

"Enough of this!" she commanded. "The other Daughters of the houses are dead and their objects all work. You, Lwaxana, Daughter of the Fifth House, still live. Perhaps when you are dead your worthless offspring will be able to activate the Sacred Chalice."

She aimed the disruptor one more time at Lwaxana. Picard knew he was out of time. He pressed the device in the chalice and swept it onto the floor as he pushed Deanna back in the opposite direction away from the blast. Magda, caught off-guard by his sudden and unexpected movement, swung her disruptor away from Lwaxana for a moment. It was all Picard needed. He dove toward Lwaxana and Kestra, knocking them clear as the disruptor aimed back in their direction. There was an explosion and the whine of a disruptor blast. Smoke filled the room as chaos ensued. More disruptor blasts, eerily visible through the thickening air, streaked across the room. Then another sound: the familiar and welcome crystalline chime of a transporter beam. Seconds later, three souls found themselves on an _Enterprise_ transporter pad surrounded by worried faces.

"Where's Captain Picard?" barked Riker when it was evident the captain had not returned with the others. The transporter chief's fingers flew over his panel.

"At the last minute I couldn't get a lock on his signal, Sir. There was some sort of interference."

Riker looked at the man as if he were telling him a bad joke.

"Try again!" he ordered sharply. "Get him out of there!"

The chief kept at his controls, but he was shaking his head.

"I'm sorry sir," he said, obviously wishing he had something different to report. "But our sensors aren't detecting any human life forms remaining at that location."

Riker stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

The chief swallowed.

"I mean…he's gone, Sir."

For the second time in her life, Beverly felt her legs give way from beneath her. She leaned back against the bulkhead for support and felt the room spin about her. _No_, she thought desperately_. Not again_….

Riker drew his phaser and leapt on the transporter pad even as Deanna and Lwaxana, still holding Kestra, stepped shakily off.

"I'm beaming back down there. Prepare to energize," he commanded the chief, but Lwaxana reached up to him and placed a hand on his arm.

"No, William. I saw what happened," she told him quietly. "Jean Luc stepped between us and the disruptor. He saved your daughter's life…but he's gone."

Riker blinked at her.

"Gone?" he repeated. "No…."

But Lwaxana just looked at him sadly and placed Kestra in his arms. In a daze, he stepped down from the transporter pad and Deanna came to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing. Will held her tightly as he stared at Lwaxana who retreated to the side of the room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Gone…. Will looked down at Deanna and his daughter and had no words to say.

The grief in the room nearly overwhelmed Deanna. It came from Will, it came from Worf, it came from…Beverly. She looked up suddenly. Her friend, ashen, was leaning against the bulkhead, numb. Deanna gave Will a meaningful look and pulled away from him, going to Beverly. She placed her hand on the doctor's arm and helped her stand. Beverly looked at her as if she were a stranger.

As counselor, Deanna was well schooled in knowing what to say when no one else did. This time, though, words left her. Wiping away her own tears, all she could manage was her friend's name, "Beverly…."

Beverly's eyes finally focused on her. Deanna saw a curtain of protectiveness fall across her face.

"Deanna…are you all right?" Beverly's hand fumbled for her medical tricorder and she snapped it open, running a scan on Deanna.

"I'm fine…" Deanna told her quietly. Beverly looked up at her with a forced smile. "Good. Lwaxana…let me check you. And Kestra, of course…."

Beverly took a tremulous step toward the older Betazoid woman, but Deanna held her back. The counselor couldn't stem the tears that were rolling down her face, and her friend's actions were making the moment just that much more difficult.

"Beverly," she said gently. "Why don't we…."

The doctor suddenly stiffened under Deanna's touch as she jerked away from her. Her empty hand balled into a fist.

"Deanna, don't…don't tell me to sit down…don't take me to my quarters…just… just let me do my job. I'll be all right."

Deanna knew Beverly was anything but all right. She looked worriedly at Will who shrugged and then nodded. Deanna stepped back from her friend who walked over to Lwaxana and then Kestra, scanning them with her tricorder.

In her head, Deanna heard her mother's confusion.

_Deanna, what am I missing here?_ Lwaxana asked.

Deanna was glad for once to have this private form of communication.

Captain Picard and Beverly were married last week, Mother. The day the Titan was destroyed.

Lwaxana looked sympathetically at Beverly. As Deanna watched she was surprised to see an amazing transformation occur in her mother. Solemn and quiet since their return to the _Enterprise_, it was as if someone had flipped a switch. Lwaxana straightened her shoulders and assumed an air which was more recognizably her. She walked over to where Beverly was reviewing the scan of Kestra and tapped her lightly on the arm.

"You know, Doctor," she said, a slight note of complaint rising in her voice. "I have been experiencing some dizziness since those horrid people assaulted us on Damon Elkon's ship." She put her hand to her head and winced in apparent pain.

Beverly ran another scan on her.

"I don't detect anything, Lwaxana, but why don't I take you to sickbay and we'll run a full diagnostic," Beverly told her.

"Would you be a dear and do that? It would give me such peace of mind. Of course, it could just be that dreadful Ferengi food. I tell you, there was nothing remotely edible programmed into the ship's replicators. How those Ferengi eat what they do is beyond me!"

Lwaxana kept up a constant stream of chatter as she slipped her arm through Beverly's and walked—no, Deanna decided—escorted her out of the transporter room, away from the latest tragedy.

Will, with Kestra, just looked confused.

"What the hell just happened?" he asked her when she returned to his side.

"I don't think Beverly knows it, but for a while at least, she's going to be the patient." She looked up at Will and her daughter and the tears returned. She clung to him, and he to her.

"Why does this feel like the worst day of my entire life?" he managed finally to ask in a choked voice. Deanna looked up into his handsome face, a face she had loved for so much of her life. He still cradled their daughter, who was contentedly asleep now, mercifully oblivious to the anguish around her. They had saved so much this day, but at what cost, she thought. It was almost too much to bear. She buried herself in the safety of Will's arms and wept.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It was the last thing Riker felt like doing, but it needed to be done. Twice in his life he had addressed this group of people under the belief that Jean Luc Picard was dead. He hadn't felt good about it then; he felt even worse about it now. Lwaxana's testimony was proof enough. Captain Picard was dead. This time he wasn't coming back.

Deanna had informally filled him in on what had transpired on the planet, but they needed an official debriefing. Now that Lwaxana was aboard, perhaps, he thought, they could get to the bottom of this. Starfleet and the Betazed Prime Minister would be waiting on their report.

The group gathered in the conference room was about as somber as they came. Whether they were lost in their own grief or they were uncertain how to act in the presence of Beverly, Riker wasn't sure. She sat off by herself at the opposite end of the conference table, her eyes fixed on some unknown point. Riker didn't know if she was focused on the discussion or not, but he wasn't going to disturb her. That she was even here at all told him the woman had great courage. He did note, however, that Wesley kept watching her with obvious concern.

"Once we found the transporter pad, we were able to figure out where you had been beamed to. After that, isolating your biosignatures was easy," Riker concluded, finishing their side of the recovery effort.

"So that's it?" asked Deanna, wearily. "We've destroyed the chalice. Without the chalice they can't access the data base and their plan can't be implemented."

Riker shook his head.

"We just can't let them go," he told her. "They murdered a Starfleet officer, not to mention the Daughters of the other four houses of Betazed. And the sixty-seven members of my crew. I won't rest until we or the Betazed authorities have them in custody."

There were nods of assent from around the table.

A quiet voice spoke above the murmuring.

"The chalice isn't destroyed."

All eyes turned to Lwaxana.

"What do you mean?" asked Deanna, startled. "You put an explosive device in it…you told us yourself. I saw the explosion!"

Lwaxana's smile was indulgent.

"That wasn't the chalice, dear. It was a replicated copy. Jean Luc knew it. I could tell when he picked it up. It was simple to fool the casual observer, but not someone with a trained eye for ancient artifacts. When I realized what was going on, what Magda and her people were after, I hid the real chalice and made a replica. I hoped it would buy us some time."

"Time for what?" asked Riker.

"To figure this all out, William. And find a proper solution."

Riker thought a moment.

"But if the copy was destroyed in the blast, how will they know it is not the real one?"

Lwaxana's voice was patient. "Because the real objects cannot be destroyed. They're made of an unknown element that is virtually indestructible. As soon as the _jzatar_ see that this chalice has been destroyed, they will realize it is not the real one."

"Then that's why it wouldn't work when I tried to activate it," mused Deanna.

"Exactly, Little One."

It hit Riker what this meant. Lwaxana had bought them time, but that was all. They were still no closer to a resolution than before, except that they had rescued Lwaxana and now understood what the _jzatar_ was after. The information had cost them dearly.

"So what does this mean?" he asked, feeling the weight of the burden that was now on his shoulders. "That they're going to be coming after you again? After all of us?"

Lwaxana was subdued in her response. "I'm afraid so, William. But this time we'll be ready for them."

Riker couldn't contain his anger at the implication that somehow they hadn't tried hard enough before. "We were ready for them last time," he told her. "Look what happened! Deanna and Kestra were beamed right out from under our noses! And Jean Luc…. " He pulled up short, looking at Beverly. She made no sign she had even heard him, however. Her thoughts were obviously elsewhere. He couldn't blame her. "How is it going to be any better this time?" he asked in a haggard voice.

For a moment there was a glimmer of the Lwaxana he knew.

"Because you have me with you now, my dear boy," she told him with a faint smile.

For the first time, Geordi spoke up. The chief engineer had been unusually quiet through most of the briefing, but then, so had everyone.

"What I want to know is what the Romulans have to do with all this?" he asked. The Romulans were a sore spot with Geordi. Riker couldn't say he blamed him. They'd brainwashed the engineer once, phased him out of the normal plane of existence another time, and had been at least partly responsible for the death of Data. It would take a lot for a Romulan to get on the good side of Geordi LaForge.

"I don't think we're dealing with the official Romulan government in this case," Deanna replied. "The _Titan_ spent a lot of time with the Romulan Task Force and I assure you, the new Praetor and the Senate were as anxious to put our uneven past relationship behind us as the Federation Council was." She was thoughtful a moment. "No…I get the sense that this is more of a renegade who, for whatever purpose, has decided to insert themselves in Betazed politics."

Data cocked his head with interest. "An interesting hypothesis, Counselor. Why do you think that?"

Deanna explained. "It was something one of the kidnappers said when they realized the captain had beamed down with us. One of them wanted to…to kill him right away, but the other said something about the Romulan wanting him. It was single—like a rogue, not plural, like an organization."

Data seemed to have been processing this new tidbit of information.

"Given what we learned in the Badlands," he said. "That information would be consistent with some outside influence controlling and providing resources to this group as well as with the mention made by the Bajoran arms dealer that a Romulan female had been inquiring into the technology obtained by the _jzatar_."

Lwaxana interrupted.

"Providing resources, yes. Controlling, no. This group has been around for millennia, Commander. Over time they must have, piece by piece, figured out the secrets of the Five Houses. But I can assure you, their motives are driven by nothing but an absolute hatred of all that Betazed has become and an obsessive desire to restore it to its original state. They are fanaticals and they'll stop at nothing to achieve their goal."

"Which still leaves the question" said Geordi. "What would a Romulan…official or even a renegade… get out of destroying Betazed?"

"Maybe they don't give a damn about Betazed."

All eyes turned toward Beverly. It was the first she had spoken.

"What do you mean, Doctor?" queried Data.

Beverly sighed and swiveled toward the group, although Riker noted she didn't meet any of their eyes.

"Maybe it isn't about Betazed at all. Maybe it's about revenge."

"I do not understand," replied Data, confused.

Riker saw her give her head a slight shake, as if to rid herself of unwanted thoughts or emotions. When she spoke, her voice was steady, although inordinately quiet.

"Maybe the answer is in that last file on the chip you brought back from the Badlands," she said. "Revenge."

Data furrowed his brow, analyzing her remark.

"It was my assumption that the Klingon proverb, in this case, referred to the motive for turning over the information to Captain Picard and Captain Riker," he replied.

"Or maybe it's the motive behind everything that's been happening here," countered Beverly. "You said yourself, Will—not everyone on Romulus is thrilled with the new peace initiative with the Federation. Maybe it's an old cell of Shinzon supporters. Maybe it's someone with a grudge against Betazoids—or even the _Enterprise_, or the captain…."

She swallowed the last word, as though it had become caught in her throat. Will saw her work her hands for a few moments on the table as she fought to regain her composure.

"All I'm saying," she continued finally. "Is that we need to look beyond the issue of Betazed if we're going to find the driving force behind all of this."

"I agree, Doctor," replied Will, relieved that she was engaged in the discussion. "Geordi, were we able to get any information when the Romulan ship decloaked?"

The engineer shook his head dejectedly.

"Not much, Captain. It's an older model _D'deridex_ class, probably predates the Dominion War. We didn't have time to scan it. A replay of the visual shows that it's seen some action. We were able to identify a fair amount of scorching on it from some pretty heavy plasma bursts. It a good bet it has the triadium cloak, however, because we've tried our tetryon scans and we haven't been able to detect a damned thing out there."

A bell went off in Riker's head at Geordi's remarks.

"Did you say plasma bursts?" he asked the engineer. Geordi nodded.

"That's right, Captain. She's taken some big hits in her time."

"Did they come from weapons—or could they be the result of plasma storms?"

Geordi shrugged.

"Without scanning them, it's hard to say. We're just operating off a visual here. It could be either."

"Plasma damage would be consistent with a large ship which had spent some time in the Badlands," noted Data, seeing where Riker's question had been going.

"If that's the case," added Geordi. "Then whoever they are, I think we've found our puppet master."

Beverly looked up sharply at Geordi's words, Will noticed. He waited for her to respond, but instead she seemed to withdraw again. While they would need to find out the Romulan connection to the _jzatar_ eventually, he didn't think they could afford to spend any more time speculating at the moment. The more pressing matter was the security of Betazed. He reminded the crew of this.

"Lwaxana—you said they'll stop at nothing to get this genetic code. How do we stop them? How do we find them?" he asked his mother-in-law.

"They will find us, William. You can be certain of that," Lwaxana told him somberly.

"Then what…" he felt his frustration returning. "We just let them take you and Deanna and Kestra right out from under us again?"

"I am no longer important—I was simply their access to the Holy Rings. They only need Deanna now," Lwaxana told him. "And, of course, the real chalice."

"Which is where, exactly?" asked Riker, impatiently.

Lwaxana's look was piercing.

"I cannot tell you that, William. But I can assure you, it is in the safest place it could possibly be. And I will take that secret to my grave, if I must." For a moment everyone pondered just how close to being true that statement might be. Lwaxana plowed on. "However, I am not without a plan. But first we must find Mr. Homn."

Deanna looked startled.

"That's right. Mr. Homn! I thought he was taken off the Ferengi ship with you, Mother?"

"Oh he was," replied Lwaxana with a wave of her hand. "He also conveniently died just as we entered orbit around Betazed. It's a talent of his. Scared me half to death during the Dominion War. If you would scan for a floating torpedo tube or some such thing, Commander, I believe we will be able to revive him. He's able to remain in a self-induced stasis for nearly two weeks, if I recall. He's only been out there a few days, so he should be just fine."

Jean Luc had felt the _Enterprise_ transporter take him and felt the jubilation that together he and Lwaxana had bought enough time for Will to find them and beam them out. But as the image of Lwaxna's elegant dining room faded out, only to fade back in, the jubilation quickly dissolved into dismay. They had lost the lock on him. Before his eyes he could see Lwaxana, still holding Kestra Riker, bathed in the tingling light of the _Enterprise's_ transporter beam; he could at least be glad that their lock had stayed true—they would be safe—Will's family would be spared. It was then that he had felt the pull of another transporter beam, one he immediately recognized as Romulan, pull him back toward nothingness. Instantly he had known this was the key—that the answer to the riddle lay at the other end of this transporter. His eyes met Lwaxana's and he had thrown his thoughts at her, jumbled and unformed; but he saw understanding in her eyes as she vanished, and a thought that bounced back to him: _As you wish._

His crew had to believe he was dead. It was the only way. Their efforts had to remain focused on Betazed and the jzatar, not him. There was just too much at stake. Picard knew them well enough—had trained them well enough—to know that no matter what their personal feelings, they would carry out their mission, regardless of his fate. His job would be to ferret out this Romulan puppet master and find a way to cut their strings.

It was only then that he realized what he had done and whom he had done it to. A horribly vivid image of Beverly receiving the news that he was dead seared into his brain even as he materialized in a guard-filled room on the Romulan Warbird. He felt as though someone had punched him in the gut.

The impassive sentries with disruptors aimed at him merely gestured toward the door. Catching his breath, Picard had a vague notion to thank them—at least they had gotten him out of the disruptor barrage that had been launched in Lwaxana Troi's dining room. Still, he had a sense that it was a case of getting out of the frying pan and into the fire. He was still a long way from being safe.

For a Romulan warbird, the ship looked like it had seen better days, Picard noted. Lights were out sporadically in the corridors. Key padds in the turbo lift did not activate immediately. There was a lurching quality to the ride between decks that told Picard that the struts and stabilizers needed realignment. No self-respecting Romulan Commander would allow a warbird in this condition to represent the Romulan Empire. Either things were worse off on Romulus than anyone knew, or this ship was a rogue. From its involvement with the _jzatar_, Picard suspected the latter.

As the turbo lift door jerked open on the bridge of the great green ship, two more guards stood blocking the way. When they did not move, Picard wondered if he was supposed to try to push past them, giving them a reason to shoot him, or if they were waiting for some signal before allowing him to advance.

A voice from the bridge soon gave him the answer.

"Oh by all means, do allow our guest to come onto the bridge," said a woman's voice.

The guards stepped aside, but by then Picard already knew who was there to greet him.

"Sela," he said, somehow not surprised. She smiled at him, a smile he knew so well in a kinder form. She had aged a great deal in the years since he had last seen her. Her looks, if possible, were even harder than before. Her face was gaunt, as if somehow reflective of the current condition of her ship. The Romulan uniform she wore, however, was as gleaming as if she had just departed the Romulan training academy, and it was accented by a medallion she wore about her neck which seemed, by it's shine, a relatively new addition to her wardrobe.

"Captain Picard. How good to see you again! Please, won't you sit down." She indicated a chair beside her on the bridge. He ignored the invitation.

"Why have you brought me here?" he demanded. He wouldn't play her little game, whatever it was. Sela frowned at him.

"Is that anyway to greet your host?" she said in mock disappointment. "My, my. And I always thought you were such a cultured man. At least that's how my dear mother used to describe you."

The reference to Tasha raised Picard's ire. Sela, after all, had been the cause of her mother's death.

"You have no right to speak of your mother in that way," he snapped at her, as if reprimanding an impertinent child.

"Touched a nerve, have I, Captain?" Sela's voice was dripping with acrimony. "What was she to you before she became my father's concubine? How many nights did she warm your bed?"

Picard fought to keep his anger in check. The rage nearly boiled over, but he forced it into his words, not into action. There were too many disruptors and the bridge and he planned to leave here alive.

"How dare you?" he spat at her. "Your mother…was like a daughter to me. She…."

Sela cut him off with a dismissive wave.

"Really, Captain, I don't care. I didn't bring you here to talk over old times anyway."

Picard swallowed the bile in his throat. She was manipulating him and he had to prevent her from doing so again.

"Then why am I here?" he demanded, forcing himself to be calm again.

She stood and walked over to where he stood, a lascivious smile on her face.

"The reason is simple, Captain," she practically purred. "For my amusement."

"Amusement?" Picard's voice had its own edge. "You'll get no amusement from me, I assure you."

"Oh really…? she asked pressing her body up against his. Her face was so close he could feel her breath on he side of his neck as her hand stroked his face. Picard stared straight ahead feeling only disgust at her advances.

"Well," she said with a smirk after only a moment. "That wasn't exactly the amusement I had in mind anyway." She turned and walked a good two meters away, twisting her medallion around her finger. "No…no. My idea of amusement is on a much grander scale. I have to ask you something, Captain. Do you enjoy blowing up ships?"

Picard could only stare at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

She spun around and faced him, a strange light dancing in her eyes.

"I said, do you enjoy blowing up ships…you know…when the warp core goes critical--or there's a direct hit on their arsenal so that…BOOM! They shatters into a million pieces like glass dropped on the floor? Doesn't that give you a thrill?"

"Certainly not" replied Picard in horror. "There are lives on those ships. Lives that are lost."

Sela dismissed his response with another wave of her hand.

"I'm talking about the explosion, Captain. The power to take something as big as a starship and turn it into space dust! You have to admit…there is an excitement like no other when that happens!"

Picard could feel his anger surfacing again. If Sela had been devious and vengeful before, she was bordering on unbalanced now.

"I will admit to no such thing," he told her. "To get satisfaction from killing another living, sentient being is wantonly immoral."

Sela crossed her arms and raised a finger to her lips.

"Ooh. Immoral. I like that word." She nodded. "I like this one better: amoral. And here's another I like: revenge. Are those good words, Captain?"

Picard decided he'd had enough of this. He wasn't going to play her game any more.

"What are you getting at, Sela," he asked impatiently. "And whatever it is, would you please get there sooner than later? This is getting tedious."

Sela raised her hand swiftly and Picard readied himself for the blow. She seemed to think better of it and let the anger on her face reform into another smirk.

"No…I want to make sure you have all your senses for this. The full experience. Nothing diminished," she told him. "But for now, we will wait. You'll be shown to your quarters." She signaled to the guards who stepped forward and flanked Picard. "They're the finest the ship has to offer…after mine that is. Only…I just wouldn't try to leave them, if I were you. The force field that will be in place has been known to cause severe shock to the human system. Must be all that red blood or something." And with that Sela returned to her seat.

Picard realized the interview was over as the guards pushed him back toward the turbo lift door. He hadn't learned much from the encounter except that Sela was obviously the resources behind the _jzatar_, and that, whatever had happened to her in the years since he'd last seen her, it had tipped her volatile personality just a little closer to the edge. As they ushered him off the Romulan bridge he feared this did not bode well for the _Enterprise_ or for Betazed.

It took Worf forty-five minutes to locate the small cylinder containing Mr. Homn and beam it's occupant to sickbay. During that time Will had consulted with both Data and Deanna as to whether or not to relieve Beverly of duty for the duration of the mission. Both argued against it. Data pointed out that her insight into those who were behind the activities of the _jzatar_ had been especially keen, indicating that, despite her seeming withdrawal from the rest of them, she was still functioning at a more than adequate capacity. Deanna was more concerned with Beverly's emotional state. She felt that if they took her away from her duties in sickbay they would be removing the only thing she had at the moment that was taking her mind off the loss of the captain.

"Beverly needs to deal with her grief in her own way and her own time, Will. Forcing her to do it now by isolating her is not going to help her. As long as she's not incapacitated by her emotions, I think we should let her be."

Will bowed to their counsel. He was having a difficult time himself adjusting to the loss of Jean Luc Picard. He couldn't imagine Beverly's pain.

In sickbay, the seemingly lifeless body of Lwaxana Troi's major domo, Mr. Homn, materialized on a biobed. Had she not known better, Beverly would have sworn that he was dead. Lwaxana, however, had provided her with the name of a rare stimulant which she assured the doctor would be the appropriate drug to bring Mr. Homn out of his self-induced coma. The problem was, Lwaxana hadn't been sure of the dosage. Mr. Homn was a large being, yet Beverly hadn't wanted to administer too much. Using the guidelines for a more conventional therapy she guessed the dosage amount and loaded it into the hypospray.

At first it seemed nothing happened. The indicators on the monitors remained flat. Thinking she needed to up the dose, Beverly turned back to the cart to reload. When she turned back, she dropped the hypospray in fright. Mr. Homn was sitting up on the bed blinking at her.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed. Mr. Homn merely smiled at her. Just then Lwaxana bustled into the room.

"Oh good. You're awake. Come now, Mr. Homn. We have work to do." Lwaxana turned on her heels and headed out the door.

"Thank you," he said, bowing slightly to Beverly and before she could utter a word, he strode out of sickbay in Lwaxana's wake.

Will did not think the Betazed Prime Minister looked especially happy. He couldn't say he blamed him. Despite having immediately dispatched Betazed Security to Lwaxana's house as soon as the _Enterprise_ had located their missing people, the _jzatar_ had escaped. They were no closer to diffusing the threat to Betazed—and the Trois—as they had been when they started.

"Our Planetary Defense Force is on alert, Captain," the Prime Minister said. "We're still not up to full strength, but we have good pilots."

Will nodded at the monitor.

"I recommend keeping them on alert too, Sir," he advised. "Our sensors cannot pick up a cloaked Romulan ship, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's still out there."

The concern on the Prime Minister's face deepened.

"Do you think they're a direct threat to Betazed?" he asked worriedly.

"I can't say, Minister. My instinct says no. But then again, they are supporting the _jzatar_ in their efforts, so who knows what tactic they may take next. We all just need to keep on our toes."

"Your efforts to rescue Ambassador Troi are most appreciated, Captain. Betazed extends its deepest condolences on the loss of Captain Picard. He will be considered an honored citizen in the history of our people," said the Prime Minister solemnly.

"His family will appreciate that, Sir," acknowledged Riker wearily. "And speaking of Ambassador Troi, she informs me she has a plan to lure the _jzatar_ out of hiding once again. We would like to coordinate efforts with Betazed Security ahead of time on this matter if possible. We may have more success if we are all prepared."

Riker hadn't meant it to sound like a chastisement of the Betazed Security office, but he realized it came out that way nevertheless. The Prime Minister looked more embarrassed than offended, however.

"An excellent idea, Captain. We will do anything…and everything to assist you."

Riker thanked the Prime Minister and signed off. Sitting back in the chair that used to be Captain Picard's he gazed out the window at the stars. Somewhere out there was a Romulan ship. The _jzatar_ ship was out their too, with their damnable harmonic shield disruptor. Geordi and Wes were still working on ways to improve their defense against it. If they were hit with a two-pronged attack again, he wanted to be ready for it. But somehow he didn't think the _jzatar_ would have to work so hard the next time to get what they wanted. He hadn't heard Lwaxana's plan yet, but he had an idea that they were going to hand the _jzatar_ what they wanted on a silver platter.

The accommodations Sela had provided were, Picard had to admit, quite luxurious. It had overtones of having once been either the commander's quarters or perhaps quarters for a traveling dignitary, perhaps a Romulan senator. The fact that many of the comfort and convenience devices no longer worked was beside the point, he was sure.

Nevertheless, Picard found himself pacing. Discovering Sela on the ship had, at least, tied up the loose ends for him. He remembered a message Will had sent him while the task force had been on Romulus—one of those, 'thought you might find this interesting' messages he usually ignored from other people, but not from his former first officer. It had been a copy of a casualty list from late in the Dominion War. Sela, in command of a warbird, had been listed as missing, along with her ship. Picard recalled having had a slight pang of regret at the news. She had, after all, been Tasha's daughter.

But there was no pang of regret now. Sela had obviously survived the war. She had probably deserted, he realized. Taken her ship and hidden in the Badlands like so many others had done. Somehow she'd hooked up with Ishara Yar—now there was a most unusual relationship, mused Picard. He wondered how they had figured that one out. Ishara was, technically, Sela's aunt. He shook his head and found himself almost glad Tasha wasn't around to witness any of this. For someone who had worked as hard as Tasha had to make something of herself, her sister and her daughter had certainly not honored her memory by their actions.

Ishara and Sela…yes, that was a combination he could understand. What he still had not worked into all of this was the _jzatar_. Why Sela would want to have any involvement with these fanaticals remained a mystery. By their very philosophy and goals there would be no part for Sela to play in a re-formed Betazed. And why she would even care if Betazed were populated by genetically pure Betazoids seemed illogical. There was some piece still missing here and he had to figure it out, otherwise everything he'd sacrificed to stay here would be for naught.

Jean Luc thought again of that sacrifice. He couldn't help but wonder what was happening aboard his ship, and not just as it pertained to the _jzatar_. The focus of his concern was Beverly. Her ability to function while under deep, personal stress was unparalleled, he knew. But he couldn't help but think that there was perhaps some other way he could have managed this without putting her through the agony of his supposed death. He hoped fervently that before long he would be able to foil whatever plot Sela had hatching here and get home to the _Enterprise_. From the way things were going, at the moment, however, he wasn't quite sure how it was going to make that all come about.

There was a momentary humming noise as the force field in front of Picard's cabin door dropped. The door slid open. As Sela strode in, Picard could see two Romulan guards stationed outside. Either they were there to protect Sela or to guard him. Obviously, after their previous encounter on Romulus, she wasn't taking any chances with him. He was rather glad that she didn't realize that without an android or Vulcan protégé his escape skills were rather limited.

"I hope you find these quarters to your liking, Captain," said Sela as she walked to a divan and seated herself. She placed her feet on the coffee table and leaned back, hands locked behind her head. She seemed to be making herself particularly vulnerable, as if inviting him to try to get the upper hand with her. Picard wouldn't bite. Those two guards weren't out there for nothing. There would be no escape this way, he was certain of it. It was better just to play along with her for now and learn everything he could.

"They're adequate," he replied coolly, sitting across from her. "But your maintenance department is getting a little behind in their work. The replicator isn't working and the sonic shower seems to be off-line."

She seemed slightly irritated by his critique. Good, thought Picard.

"I'll see they get right on it," she told him testily, sitting up straight.

"So, Sela," Picard decided he'd lead the conversation this time. "How has life in the Badlands been lately? Those plasma storms can certainly reek havoc on a ship's systems, can't they?"

She merely smiled coolly at him.

"You would know, Captain, having been there so recently yourself."

"Yes…well, we had a few questions we needed answers for, and it seemed like the logical place to start," he replied.

"Somehow I think you didn't get as many answers there as you'd hoped for, Captain. But perhaps I can remedy that. What would you like to know?"

Picard had the feeling he was being manipulated again, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to learn all he could. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together.

"Are you responsible for the _jzatar_ gaining access to these sophisticated technologies they've been using?" he asked pointedly. Sela crossed her arms.

"That depends on how you define 'responsible'," she said slyly. "Did I develop the technology myself? No…. Did I broker them to the _jzatar_? Again…no…. Did I provide them with funds with which to acquire them…well, that, I'm afraid, I do have to admit to being guilty to."

"Why do you wish to become embroiled in the affairs of Betazed?" he continued. He would push her for all he could. He might as well.

"I was bored," she replied lazily, lounging again on the sofa and smiling at him.

"Somehow I doubt that," Picard replied, baitingly. Sela smiled even more broadly. Her eyes, however, remained distant and cold.

"Let's just say I saw an opportunity to advance my own cause, and took advantage of it," she said finally.

"Cause?" asked Picard. "What cause?"

"The cause to which I have devoted much of the last ten years of my life to, Captain. The cause of revenge. To do it right takes a great deal of planning you know. And a fair amount of time." Sela brushed a speck of lint off her shiny Romulan tunic.

"Revenge against whom?" Picard pressed her. He saw her eyes flash this time, as though she wanted to lash out against him. Her control was impressive, however, and she merely shrugged off the emotion, as though it were nothing but a momentary chill.

"Oh, there are so many…the list is quite long. You'll be pleased to know, however, that you are at the top of it."

"Me?" Picard feigned surprise. "For what?"

This did bring her to her feet.

"For what?!" she snapped. "For bringing a grinding halt to my career, that's what! For a demotion that was just one step short of being an execution! For making me a pariah among my own people! For sending me out to fight an intractable enemy with a half-trained crew and a nearly derelict ship! For forcing me into _exile_, Picard. For ruining my life."

"You know," said Picard in an irritated voice as he paced slightly in front of her. "That's the second time in two weeks someone has blamed me for their own short-comings, and I'm getting damn well tired of it. If you want someone to blame for your failure, Sela, I suggest you not look any further than your own mirror."

She very nearly did strike him this time, but Picard was prepared and ducked out of the way. This only angered her further, but once again he saw the amazing control she had. She pulled in her emotions and crossed he arms in front of her, as though afraid they might lash out on their own.

"Somehow, Captain," she managed to say through gritted teeth. "You just seem to bring out the worst in me, no matter how hard I try." She paced now, taking deep breaths and letting the air out slowly. When she had sufficiently calmed herself she turned back to Picard.

"Obviously, Picard, you're trying to figure all of this out. I don't blame you…in fact, I'll even help. Let's say the _jzatar_ manage to get their little genetic roadmap up and running. And let's say they somehow even get a pretty powerful weapon in their hands—something that can eliminate a population while keeping all the structures and technologies in place."

Picard could feel the blood draining from his face. There was only one weapon that could do that.

"Ahh…I see you're having a flashback. It was quite an impressive explosion, I understand, when the _Scimitar_ was destroyed. Ohh. And you're quite right—Theleron radiation is nothing to toy with. The Federation and Romulus were quite right to sign that treaty prohibiting further research, development and deployment of any such technology."

She sidled over to him and dropped her voice to a whisper.

"The only trouble is, Captain, once the cat is out of the bag, it's hard to stuff it back in. Someone always knows something. And someone's always willing to talk…for the right price." She smiled at him and sauntered away again, playing idly with the medallion she wore around her neck. Picard's eyes were drawn to it. It had a familiar look to it.

"Where was I?" Sela continued. "Oh yes. The _jzatar_. A genetic blueprint. A deadly weapon. Voila! Betazed is re-made, practically overnight. Oh…and who gets the blame? Well, the _jzatar_ of course…but then, where did that Theleron radiation originate anyway? And who did the rumors say was funding the _jzatar_'s procurement of their cloaks and harmonic shields disruptors? Why…the trail lead right to Romulus, of course. I can just see it now…accusations, denials, recriminations…breaking off relations…face-off…war."

Picard stared at her.

"You would do this to send your own people—and the Federation—to war?" he asked, incredulously."

"You forget, Captain…I am a daughter of Romulus and the Federation both. And both sides have betrayed me. I have no allegiance any longer, except to myself."

Bitterness swept off her in waves and Picard could finally see the crack in the veneer. Underneath, somewhere, he knew there was a small child who felt as though there was no world where she belonged. Too human for Romulus; too Romulan to be accepted by humans. She had made her choice and betrayed her mother to do so. And now her choice, her beloved Romulus, had discarded her. They had made that long-ago sacrifice of a four year old girl worthless. She had lost everything and now she was going to make those responsible pay.

In many ways, thought Picard, Sela was as dangerous as Shinzon. Now, more than ever, she had to be stopped. The _jzatar_ had to be stopped. He had to get off this ship.

"It seems as though you have your plan worked out just fine, Sela. Just what do you need me for?" he asked finally. Perhaps if he understood his role in this he could figure out a way to intervene in the process.

"Actually, Captain, your presence here is rather ahead of schedule. I had intended to beam you off your ship some time in the near future. The fact that you inadvertently joined Magda's little party has simply moved up my timetable a little."

She strolled over to the window and gazed out at the distant planet. Betazed was a small sphere, appearing no closer than earth's moon appeared to that planet. Picard could not see the _Enterprise_ in orbit at the moment.

"My plan for you was originally quite simple," Sela continued. "I had hoped that the _Enterprise_ would be sent to Betazed. When the _Titan_ was destroyed it was thought that your Captain Riker and that irritating wife of his would be lost with all hands. I know how tight you Starfleet types are…nothing like a good opportunity to mete out justice to bring you to the fore. I believed if you had your own score to settle, you might be the one to pursue the _jzatar_ trail. We just hadn't expected to find you parked right alongside the _Titan_ when the time came for the attack. It couldn't have been more perfect…except of course that you were able to rescue Riker and that perfect little empath of his."

Picard felt his own anger rise, but he would not give in to her insults.

"Why would the _jzatar_ agree to murdering Deanna?" he asked instead. "They need her to activate the chalice."

Sela's smile was sly.

"Actually, they don't. However it is certainly more convenient to have her do it than to have Lwaxana Troi imprint someone else. That woman can be nothing if not obstinate, or so I've been told. Magda wasn't sure there was enough leverage to compel her cooperation—until they learned about her granddaughter."

Picard thought of little Kestra Riker, barely three weeks old and already under the threat of being used as a pawn to force Lwaxana to comply. Beverly had told him about Will's concerns over raising a family aboard a starship. This certainly would lend credence to his fears. Picard's own temper, barely contained as Sela laid out her whole scheme, threatened to flare up as he thought of harm coming to his goddaughter. He held his tongue, though; there was still more he needed to know.

"It didn't come to that though," she went on. "Troi survived and you all came here, charging to the rescue, as you usually do."

Picard felt he could trust his voice again.

"You still haven't told me what you want me for," he reminded her acidly.

"Ah. You're right! You see, once Magda and her people had finished their little ritual, then my fun was supposed to begin. I had it perfectly planned you know—we drain your shields, I beam you off the ship, and then a very dramatic moment of revelation to you and your crew right before I blow the _Enterprise_ and all of your people to hell. I'd intended to record the whole event, so I could view it whenever I was feeling a little low. What a sight that would be—the _Enterprise_, nothing but tiny little specks of space dust, floating through all eternity." She smiled as if imagining a lovely vision. A moment later, though, she focused back on Picard.

"I haven't decided which I will enjoy more: watching the Enterprise vanish in one delightful explosion, or watching you—my honored guest—as it happens. We should have a spectacular view of the whole thing on the main bridge. Believe me, it will be quite a sight."

Picard now understood everything. Sela really didn't care about the _jzatar_ or their cause. The entire population of Betazed could be exterminated or not—it didn't matter to her. Just as she had done before, she had piggy-backed her own agenda onto to someone else's, using them as a means to her own ends. The thought of what she had planned—the fate of Betazed and of the _Enterprise_—left him nauseous. No matter what happened to him, he realized, he had to stop this woman and her madness.

"You really don't expect to catch the _Enterprise_ unawares, do you," he told her, hoping to get her to at least second guess her own plans.

"Captain. Your crew thinks you're dead. They're trying to keep Deanna Troi safe and rescue Betazed all at the same time. They'll be so busy they won't even notice us until it's too late."

Picard shook his head.

"You're wrong. As soon as that _jzatar_ ship appears with its harmonic shield disruptor, they'll be expecting you. You won't fool them a second time."

"You must think me an idiot or a dim-witted Klingon, Picard," she shot at him angrily. Then her look softened. "You see, Captain—the good thing about having the prototype to new technology is that you can use it to make more of the same…and tinker around to improve it, while you're at it." She swung the medallion enticingly on the end of her finger. Picard could see it better now, and he knew where he had seen the markings on it before. The images were permanently seared into his memory.

"But perhaps you'd be more impressed if you met my partner in all of this. I believe the two of you recently became re-acquainted," Sela went on.

The door to Picard's quarters slid open and in walked Ishara Yar.

With the addition of this one single person to the equation, Picard suddenly felt as if he were beaten.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The door to the guest quarters slid open and Deanna entered. Her mother was sitting at the table with Mr. Homn and looked up at her expectantly.

_Come in, Deanna,_ she communicated to her. Deanna looked at her somewhat irritated.

"Mother, what's going on?" Deanna replied aloud.

She saw her mother and Mr. Homn exchange a look and Mr. Homn rose and left the room. Lwaxana also stood and took Deanna by the arm, guiding her to the chair.

"My dear, I swear to you. I had no intention of involving you—any of you—in this mess. I thought it was something I could deal with on my own. But when they killed Sonara—outright brutally murdered her, Deanna—I knew I couldn't take any more chances. I was next, and you along with me."

Deanna took her mothers hands and held them. They seemed so much thinner than she remembered.

"You should have told me, Mother," she chastised her lightly. "If we had known…."

"If you had known, then what? I know you Deanna—maybe better than you know yourself. You think you've stepped out of the shadow of your Betazed traditions, but when it comes right down to it, you're as committed to them as I have been. Part of your heart will always be here on Betazed, and when it comes to a matter of duty and honor, you'd have stepped in and done your part. I didn't want that for you."

Deanna looked at he mother, surprised.

"But that's all you ever did want for me, Mother. Ever since I was little…."

Lwaxana waved her remarks away with her hand.

"Oh Deanna…you of all people should appreciate the practice of reverse psychology! What child is going to listen to her mother, especially when all the mother wants is for her to trudge through a bunch of dreary social obligations? The only way I knew I could be sure to push you out of the nest was if I behaved as though the nest was the only place I really wanted you?"

Deanna was dumbstruck.

"You mean, all this time…?"

Lwaxana smiled patiently at her, her dark eyes moist.

"My darling, you are your father's daughter. I knew it from when you were very young. And I was so happy. I loved your father very much. If it hadn't been for your grandmother, perhaps we would have one day roamed the stars as you and Will do. But she insisted I remain on Betazed, and so your father stayed too. And then when he died…" she squeezed Deanna's hand tightly. "When he died, I had no choice. I was alone with a young child and I had no other place to go. I vowed then, Deanna, that I would never make you follow in my footsteps. I wanted you to be free to make your own choices. And you have."

Deanna looked at her mother with sympathy. She recalled how much of a tyrant her grandmother had been but she had never realized the extent to which she had controlled her daughter's life. She could only imagine what courage it must have taken Lwaxana to have defied her enough to marry Ian Troi and take his name as her own.

"But now we're still faced with what to do about the Chalice," Deanna reminded her. Lwaxana sighed.

"It must never be allowed to be used, Deanna. It is an awful and powerful thing. Should knowledge of what the Sacred Objects really contain ever get out…there could be others who would want to get their hands on them."

Deanna was silent, thinking. Obviously her mother wasn't going to tell her where the chalice was hidden. In a way she was grateful. Without the information she would be less valuable to the _jzatar_. But that didn't mean the overall risk was any less.

"What about the other women who were there, Mother…the ones who had the other four objects. Who were they?"

Lwaxana went to the replicator and requested a glass of water. Sipping it she returned to Deanna and sat back down.

"They were the heirs of the daughters of the other four houses. I was never allowed to speak to any of them, and our telepathy was being blocked. But I had a sense that each of them had been coerced to be there and that none of them were willingly activating their device." Lwaxana sighed. "You know, the time was when an heir of one of the sacred objects would have died—or even sacrificed their loved ones--rather than be blackmailed into revealing its secret. I don't know if they're just getting soft or getting smart."

"I'm not sure you should talk, Mother," Deanna pointed out with a slight smile. "After all, you were willing to let abandon your duty to the House of Rixx by not passing on the chalice's secret to me."

"True," said Lwaxana with regret. "Maybe I'm the one getting soft."

Deanna shook her head and put her arm around her mother's shoulders.

"No. I'd say you're the one who's getting smart.

Lwaxana looked at her gratefully and patted her hand.

"Well, I suppose if I'd had my wits about me back then I would have imprinted poor Aleena on the Chalice instead of you. She's always been fascinated by it, even without completely understanding what it was. But…my mother was adamant. After your sister died, it had to be you. But I think Aleena would have been a better choice than either of us."

"I know Aleena has never quite fit in with our family," said Deanna, troubled. "But I have a hard time seeing her as a member of the _jzatar_."

"Oh--well, she's not. Not in the truest form, that is. There's no direct descendency in the House of Rixx. Generations ago they intermarried with the House of Daar and then later on with the House of Katara. There may even be a little of the House of Xerix tossed in. No. If the _jzatar_ are out to destroy all but the purest blood of each house, Aleena will never survive," Lwaxana told her. Deanna was surprised.

"Then why would she join with them?" she asked, puzzled. Her mother finished her water.

"She had no clue, I'm sure, as to what their real intentions were until today. I was allowed to spend a little time with poor Aleena. As I understood it, the _jzatar_ promised to make her the new Daughter of the Fifth House. They were going to imprint her on the chalice, once you and I were dead."

Deanna realized again just how close they'd come to dying in her mother's dining room. If it hadn't been for Captain Picard….

"Then they were going to kill us," she said dully. Lwaxana nodded.

"Oh yes. And dear little Kestra too. The _jzatar_ didn't want to risk any other direct heirs of the House of Rixx surviving." Deanna saw her mother study her and frown worriedly. She patted Deanna's face and pulled her daughter's head down to her shoulder. For a brief moment it felt good to rest it there. For just an instant the desire to turn it all over to her mother and just be protected was nearly overwhelming. Then Deanna thought of Kestra. One day she would need a shoulder to lean on, a mother to turn to. Deanna knew she had to be prepared for that day. She knew she wouldn't be if she still turned over everything to her mother. Somehow she had to find the strength inside her to meet this head-on, with her mother at her side, not shielding her.

"Oh Little One," her mother shook her head. "You can't carry these burdens by yourself. I do know what you're thinking…and feeling. That's why you have family…and friends."

"My friends are getting killed over this, Mother," Deanna told her with anguish. "How am I supposed to feel?" She was surprised to see a resonant empathy in Lwaxana's face.

"I know, Deanna. Believe me. I know. You've saved your daughter…but you've lost the captain…and you've inflicted a terrible gaping wound on your best friend's heart. I wouldn't expect you to feel anything but horrible after all of this."

The mention of Beverly brought her friend to mind. Deanna had tried to catch up with her after the debriefing, but the doctor had headed straight to Sickbay. That she still did not want to talk was obvious.

"Beverly is in such…pain," admitted Deanna, her own distress at her friend's loss nearly bringing her to tears. "And the awful thing is…she won't deal with it. She just keeps burying it, deeper and deeper. I'm so worried that it will just consume her."

"Beverly is a strong woman," Lwaxana assured her. "Take it from one who knows. She will pull out of this."

But Deanna shook her head.

"I'm not so sure, Mother. One reason she and Captain Picard took so long to realize their feelings about one another was because it took Beverly forever to put her first husband's death behind her. I'm not sure she'll recover from this."

Lwaxana patted her arm.

"Have faith, Little One. The day will come when Beverly Crusher will again know joy."

Deanna looked at her mother skeptically and fervently wished that it might be so.

Will Riker sat back and waited. There was little doubt as to who was in charge of this strategy session, and it wasn't him. The only thing that made him feel better was knowing that the plan being put forth had been designed by the only person in the whole universe who loved Deanna as much as he, and he knew that Lwaxana would not jeopardize her daughter's life.

The senior staff had reconvened in the observation lounge. Everyone looked exhausted and he realized it had probably been a while since any of them had slept. Geordi and Wesley had been working on ways to defend against the harmonic shield disruptor and looked as though they'd had a few too many cups of _raktajino_. Worf was sullen, even more so than Riker remembered him being. The safety of Captain Picard had always been the Klingon's top priority and Riker could just about read the tactical officer's thoughts as to how he believed he had failed his commander. As for Beverly, Will felt as though he were looking at a shadow of the doctor. If anything she seemed even more withdrawn than before, as if she were folding in on herself. Only Data seemed untouched by the events of the past twelve hours and Riker even knew this to not be so. With no emotion chip Data's response to the loss of the captain had seemed very clinical, but Riker knew that, despite his protestations that he could not grieve, the android was, in his own way, mourning the captain's death.

"What we need," Lwaxana was saying. "Is bait."

Riker looked up at her.

"Bait?" he repeated, frowning.

"For the _jzatar_, William. Unless you and Deanna and dear little Kestra want to spend the rest of your lives looking over your shoulder, then we need to flush out this group and turn them over to the Betazed authorities. Now, I would be the obvious choice, except that I'm afraid they will no longer trust anything I do, not after I handed over a fake Chalice," Lwaxana explained.

Riker looked at her in disbelief. He was beginning to lose his sense of security that Lwaxana wouldn't propose anything rash.

"You're not using Deanna as bait," he told her in no uncertain terms.

"Will…" Deanna placed her hand on his arm. "I am the logical choice. If we make Mother too accessible they'll suspect it's a trick."

"Deanna…" argued Will, his voice rising slightly. "They want to kill you…or have you forgotten?"

Deanna blanched slightly.

"No…I haven't forgotten. But I understand the nature of the Chalice now and if they want it to work, they can't kill me…not until it's been activated or else imprinted on a new Daughter of the Fifth House."

"Kestra…?" Will asked, his voice hoarse with dread. But Deanna shook her head.

"Not necessarily. In this case they would imprint my cousin, Aleena. Of course, they can't imprint anyone without the Chalice itself."

"And only I know where that is," Lwaxana added. "Which makes another good reason for me not being the bait. I'm a very strong-willed person, William. But Daughter of the Fifth House or not, I would not stand by and let them harm Deanna or Kestra—or even you, dear boy—and not turn the damned thing over."

"Actually," interjected Deanna. "We thought contacting Aleena would be a good place to start. She's not as committed to the cause as the other members of the group are and I sensed she was becoming less and less sure about this as a course of action. She was especially resistant to the idea of harming Kestra and I felt that she would have interfered with that if she'd had the courage to."

Riker crossed his arms and thought about this.

"What makes you think that she wouldn't suspect a ruse any more than the rest of the _jzatar_ would?

"Because Aleena knows me…she knows that I'm the type of person who would rather talk things out…you know…put on my counselor's hat, so to speak, and resolve matters that way. And in a way…it's true. I think if I could talk to her without the rest of the _jzatar_ around, I may be able to persuade her to walk away from them. At least, I'd like to try."

Will couldn't help but smile at his wife. Even under these most dire of circumstances she was still trying to figure out a way to help someone else. Even after all these years she still held the belief that there was a core of goodness within each individual.

His smile vanished, however, at the next part of the plan.

"She still harbors the ambition to be the Daughter of the Fifth House," pointed out Lwaxana. "Which is why we think she'll contact the _jzatar_ and let them know Deanna is coming."

"And then what?" asked Riker, not bothering to keep the anger from his voice. "We just let them take her?"

"Yes, Will. It's the only way we'll get back into their inner circle. We have to find the other Daughters and the other Sacred Objects," Deanna told him calmly.

Will was shaking his head. He did not like this. He did not like this one bit.

"I can implant Deanna with a transponder device," spoke up Beverly. "We'll be able to track her anywhere on the planet. That way we can get an instant lock on her with the transporters and beam her back."

"We can also beam in a security team and apprehend the _jzatar_ until the Betazed authorities arrive," pointed out Worf. He fixed Deanna with an approving glare. "It is a good plan."

"Then I'm going too," Will said firmly. "You can implant me as well. I'm not letting her go into this alone."

"Will you can't…" began Deanna, but Lwaxana interrupted her.

"You'd give the whole plan away, William. Not that you'd mean to, but I don't think you realize the emotions that are pouring off of you. Even poor Aleena would be able to figure it out and she's no where near as telepathic as the _jzatar_ are." Lwaxana looked around the table. "I'm afraid none of you are a good candidate. Except you, of course, Mr. Data, but I believe your talents are needed on board the _Enterprise_." Data acknowledged her statement.

"I won't let Deanna do this alone," Will insisted again.

"Of course not. Neither will I," Lwaxana agreed. "Which is why I'm sending Mr. Homn along. He's impervious to telepathic invasion and he generates absolutely no emotion. He will be undetectable to them."

Will looked incredulous. Homn? The man was as conspicuous as a Klingon at a Bynar convention. He said as much.

"Mr. Homn has abilities that are greatly under appreciated," Lwaxana replied. "Isn't that correct, Mr. Homn?"

To their amazement, Mr. Homn seemed to magically materialize out of the bulkhead. Worf half rose from his seat as if in response to a threat, but then sat back down. Everyone else just gaped.

"Mr. Homn is a humanoid chameleon," Lwaxana explained. "He's been in the room the whole time and no one even noticed him. He can camouflage perfectly into any background. And," she added. "There's the added advantage that they believe him to be dead. They'll never suspect he's there."

Will admitted to being impressed. He'd always just thought of Mr. Homn as the silent appendage of Lwaxana. It never occurred to him that the tall man had any unique abilities other than a strong arm and an occasional inclination to imbibe too much synthehol.

"But what if they transport the counselor someplace, like last time. He can't hide then," Geordi pointed out.

"Mr. Homn, would you kindly show them your transporter effect," Lwaxana asked lightly. Mr. Homn gave a single nod, concentrated, and a moment later was twinkling in a perfect imitation of a transporter beam. "He could be right in the beam itself next to her and they'd never see him," concluded Lwaxana in a pleased voice.

Will had no choice now. There really were no other options, and he felt marginally better knowing that Mr. Homn was along. He still didn't like the idea of sending his wife, his _imzadi_, into such knowing danger, but there was little else they could do. The _jzatar_ had to be stopped and this was the only way to do it.

"All right, then," he said with resignation. "Go ahead and contact your cousin. Let's finish this."

Beverly had never felt so empty, so used up, like a husk of a discarded skin. The corridor to her quarters…their quarters…was mercifully empty this time of day, and she arrived at the door without having to face anyone. She had fled the observation lounge as soon as Will had dismissed them. When they were ready she would implant Deanna with the transponder chip, but for now she simply wanted to be away from their sympathetic looks. She knew they were all watching her, waiting for some sort of break down. But she wasn't ready to think of Jean Luc now. Some part of her brain that ran on autopilot told her she was suffering from shock—shock as traumatic as if her body had taken a heavy phaser blast or been impaled by a Borg implant. But knowing she was in shock and dealing with it were two entirely different things.

The door slipped back and she walked into the quarters that bespoke of the man who Jean Luc Picard had been. She had not had time to unpack the few things she had brought with her, so there was nothing of hers to distract her. Everything here was the man she had married: his books on a shelf; his Ressican flute; his collection of archeological artifacts, each placed and lit just so.

She walked over to them. Admittedly she had never shared his passion for this type of history and so she had never more than casually admired each of the pieces he had so carefully described to her in detail. Beverly wished now she had. Each of these meant something to him. Each had a story to tell that Jean Luc had found worth knowing, worth savoring, worth remembering. They were part of who he was. The only part she had left.

Her eyes rested on one piece, set back in a darker corner of the display, as if it were there simply out of courtesy, and not really meant to be seen. Perhaps the reason for this was because it was so ugly. A hideous figure of a fat man on squatty legs and a peculiar little misshapen head balanced on top like an afterthought. Oddly, it was the one piece Beverly did know about. She remembered precisely what this piece was and how it had come to Jean Luc. Lwaxana Troi had given it to him as a gift; a gift for being the best man at Will and Deanna's wedding. It was a rare Betazoid piece, she'd told him. A symbol of luck and of safe journeys. Beverly had watched Jean Luc's face as he accepted the gift, and she knew right away he hated the thing. Who wouldn't. But, ever the diplomat, he had been gracious in his acceptance of it, assuring her it would become a treasured piece of his collection.

It was outstandingly ugly, and as Beverly picked it up and looked at it more closely, she found she hated this piece. It was irrational she knew, but somehow it was as if her present feelings for Betazed and the _jzatar_ and even, in some way, for Lwaxana and Deanna, were all manifested in this one hideous smiling fat piece of pottery. She had an overwhelming urge to break it--to smash it into a thousand pieces, as if in some way that would release the all the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her and focus them in on something tangible. She would get tremendous satisfaction, she knew, from hearing the pottery shatter.

The door chime stopped her in mid-swing, almost as if a hand had caught her arm. She let out a sigh. Whoever it was, she did not want to see them. She did not want to watch their faces looking so pained and sympathetic. There was only one person who could offer her comfort, as he had so often comforted her before—when Wesley had gone to be a Traveler, when Odan had merged with a female host, when her grandmother had died. And now he was gone. She was not ready for anyone to take his place. Not yet.

The door chimed again, and reluctantly Beverly said "Come in". To her surprise, Lwaxana Troi stood at the threshold looking slightly uncertain, a first for Lwaxana, Beverly thought. The instant she spotted Beverly, though, she strode in with her usual confident step, although she paused slightly when she saw the artifact in Beverly's hand.

"Ah…the piece I gave Jean Luc at Deanna's wedding."

Beverly looked at the object in her hand as if she'd been caught stealing it.

"I was just remembering that day," lied Beverly, placing it back on the shelf.

"It was not quite the celebration I had planned," Lwaxana told her as she settled herself in on the sofa, without an invitation, Beverly noted. She sighed and sat as well. She was not really in the mood to deal with Lwaxana Troi, but she had no choice.

"It was a bittersweet time for all of us," admitted Beverly.

"Ah yes. That Romulus business. Mr. Data's…well, I guess death isn't quite the right word for it. William and Deanna off for the _Titan_. You heading for…it was Starfleet Medical, wasn't it?"

"Yes," replied Beverly, wearily.

"That's right. Hardly the gala time I had envisioned. Which just goes to show you, I suppose. Life just cannot be planned. The universe will throw a simian hydrospanner into it every single time."

Beverly managed a weak smile. She really just wanted to be alone…it seemed like days since she had slept. The fatigue was enough now that she knew she could just lay down and fall asleep without having to face the emptiness her thoughts would bring her if she were less tired. But getting Lwaxana to leave without being rude….

"My dear, did Deanna ever tell you how her father died?"

The complete nonsequitor threw Beverly. She looked puzzling at Lwaxana for a moment and then, comprehending the question, answered.

"No. I don't think so…I guess I just assumed it was on a mission."

Lwaxana smiled sadly and shook her head.

"No. He wasn't assigned to a starship. He was in the diplomatic corps—assigned to the Federation Embassy here on Betazed. He had a knack for dealing with…difficult personalities."

Now Beverly couldn't help but smile slightly. If anyone could be considered a "difficult personality" it was Lwaxana Troi.

"The Ducrinian ambassador had been attending a trade conference here on Betazed. She was a good friend of the Federation ambassador at the time. She hated to transport…something about how Ducrinian metabolism reacts to the energy-matter conversion or some such thing…anyway, she'd requested a shuttle. The regular pilot was ill, so Ian volunteered to shuttle the Ambassador back to her ship. On his return to the planet, something went wrong during re-entry. The shuttle disintegrated…" Lwaxana paused, obviously still affected by the memory. After clearing her throat, she continued.

"They said it was pilot error—but I knew better. Ian was an outstanding pilot. Too good to make a mistake like that. But it didn't really matter what the cause was. He was gone and I was left alone with a young daughter to raise. Oh—I was so angry at him! I was angry he'd volunteered to fly the shuttle—and I was angry at him for dying and leaving us alone.

"One night I threw his picture across the room against the wall. It shattered into a million pieces—absolutely beyond repair. It was only then that I realized that he'd had no more control over his death than that picture had over being broken. Both of them were subject to forces outside their control." Lwaxana paused for a moment. "That night I cried until there wasn't a tear left in me. And the next morning I woke up knowing that the only thing to do was for Deanna and I to go on with our lives."

"When Jack died I threw myself into my work," Beverly admitted. " It was the only thing that kept my mind from dwelling on the pain."

With her dark eyes, Lwaxana looked at her expectantly, obviously waiting for more.

"And then of course there was Wesley," Beverly continued, haltingly. "He needed me more than ever. Somehow, together, we managed."

Lwaxana's face was somber.

"And how are you managing now, Dear?"

Beverly found herself studying her hands. The ring Jean Luc had placed on her finger seemed suddenly to blur as she looked at it.

"Not…very…well," she confessed, quietly.

"You feel the anger." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," admitted Beverly, vehemently. "Yes! Damn him!" She felt a fury rise within. "How could he do this to me? How could he just go off…."

"…and not come back," finished Lwaxana.

Beverly looked at the woman and nodded.

"But that's him, you know," Beverly went on with a slight, bitter laugh. "Will tried keeping him on the bridge for years—but no, he's Jean Luc Picard of the _Enterprise_. Let's lead the Away Team. Let's get assimilated by the Borg. Let's go undercover to a Cardassian secret base. Let's meet our evil Reaman clone for Earl Gray tea and crumpets!"

Beverly knew she was ranting, but she could not have stopped now if she had wanted to. If Lwaxana's intent had been to open the flood gates, she had succeeded. As Beverly paced the floor in front of her, Deanna's mother said nothing; she merely sat and listened.

"Do you know how many times he's been in my sickbay in the past eighteen years?" asked Beverly, her voice rising. "Do you know how many times I've yanked him back from the brink of death? How many times my heart has been in my throat because I thought maybe this was the time I couldn't save him? And what does he go and do to me? He throws himself in front of a Romulan disruptor and there's not a damn thing I can do about it!" She felt her hands ball into fists, but she could not unclench her fingers.

"He saved the life of a friend." Lwaxana's voice was quiet and calm. Beverly felt herself sag. She collapsed back onto the sofa. Her venting of emotion had drained whatever last bit of energy she'd had.

"I know," she sighed. It was almost a sob.

Lwaxana leaned close to her.

"No, Dear. I don't think you understand. He protected Kestra and me…but he saved Will's life."

Beverly did not understand at first. Will had been on the ship the whole time. But then, finally, it came to her what Lwaxana meant. Beverly had seen Will Riker's face when he had held his daughter. She'd heard his anguish at the fear he felt for her and Deanna—witnessed his anger when confronted by those who wanted to take those most precious things away from him. Had the _Jzatar_ killed Deanna they would have killed Will Riker too. The man he had been would cease to be as surely as if they had stopped his heart from beating. When Jean Luc had saved Deanna and Kestra—even saved Lwaxana—he had also saved Will Riker; saved him from a future of anger and bitterness and revenge.

Of course—it was the type of thing Jean Luc would do. That was the kind of man he was. It was one of the things she had always loved about him: his friends, his crew—their safety and well-being always came before his own. It was what made him a good captain; it was what made him a good man. A man she had loved.

She looked at Lwaxana with understanding and gratitude. It occurred to her that this wasn't at all the same woman she thought she knew. Gone was the flighty, self-absorbed Daughter of the Fifth House. In her place had appeared a thoughtful, caring, insightful counselor. It seemed to her that there was a lot more to Lwaxana Troi than met the eye.

Beverly reached out and squeezed Lwaxana's hand.

"Thank you," she said wearily. Lwaxana had guided her back to the man she had loved—a man who would lay down his life for a friend. He didn't deserve her anger. Just her love—even if that love caused her body to ache to its very core.

Lwaxana patted her hand and stood up to leave. She was nearly to the door when she stopped and turned back to face Beverly.

"I knew he was gone before they told me, you know. I felt my Ian die."

Beverly nodded. She knew Deanna had often felt the deaths of those close to her. However the purpose of Lwaxana's statement puzzled her.

"I understand you and Jean Luc once experienced a telepathic link," Lwaxana continued.

Beverly nodded again.

"On Kessprytt. We were implanted with psi-wave transmitters—it allowed us to share our thoughts and emotions."

Lwaxana regarded her a few moments.

"The human mind is capable of a great deal more than most people realize. Once a telepathic connection has been made, it rarely is severed completely," Lwaxana told her, finally.

Beverly shook her head.

"After the devices were removed, we weren't able to reconnect," Beverly explained.

"Weren't you?"

Beverly reflected on this. There had been times since Kessprytt when it had seemed that she and Jean Luc were particularly in-sync with their ideas and thoughts. She had always attributed it to the fact that they knew each other so well. She had never considered it a remnant of their Kessprytt experience.

"I'll just ask you this, Doctor," added Lwaxana softly. "Did you _feel_ Jean Luc die?"

And with that, she left.

Beverly, speechless, exhausted and thoroughly confused, could do nothing but watch her go.

It was not until later, as she lay alone in a bed that seemed too empty and too cold that she let herself dwell on Lwaxana's words: _Did you feel Jean Luc die_?

On the surface, it was a horrible question. But Beverly didn't think that Lwaxana had intended it that way; she had obviously been trying to help. Whatever then could she have meant by it? Was Lwaxana implying that somehow, without their realizing it, she and Jean Luc had retained some element of their telepathic bonding? It didn't seem possible and yet…perhaps there was something to it, after all. Ever since San Francisco Beverly had felt a connection to Jean Luc that was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Part of it, she was sure, was simply the new level their relationship had evolved to. But there was more to it than that—it was like nothing she'd ever felt with Jack or any of the handful of men she'd been involved with in her life. It went beyond physical, beyond emotional—it was deeper than that, somehow.

Perhaps that was why Lwaxana's question haunted her. Had she felt Jean Luc die—felt the moment his life winked out of existence? As much as she did not want to remember the scene in the transporter room, she forced herself back to those horrible moments when Lwaxana, Kestra and Deanna had been beamed back on board. No—she had been as surprised as anyone when Jean Luc had failed to materialize on the transporter pad; as stunned as the rest by Lwaxana's announcement that he was gone. Surely if there were something more to their relationship, some sort of telepathic or spiritual link, she would have known.

Unless, she thought…unless Jean Luc was still…no. No! Beverly squeezed her eyes shut to rid herself of the very thought. Why, Lwaxana's own testimony made it impossible_. Come on, Beverly_, she told herself with irritation. _Get a grip_! Jean Luc was dead and there was no point in thinking it could be otherwise.

Beverly forced the thoughts from her mind. Others, however, popped up to take their place: images, regrets, fears…. She wished desperately she hadn't wasted all the years she had with her own ambivalence about Jean Luc. There were so many more things they could have shared. She recalled the conversation they'd had about children—the unexpected light in his eyes when the possibility of fatherhood had been raised. That opportunity too was forever lost. All that would remain in the universe of this extraordinary man would be a few lines in a history text.

Regret after regret Beverly battled down, finally wondering if perhaps she shouldn't have brought something from sickbay to help her sleep. She forced her mind to run through the pharmacopoeia of sleeping agents she had on-board. It was an old trick she'd used during her medical school days when her body had been tired but her brain would not rest. The equivalent of the old earth adage of counting sheep. It had worked before, and at last, it worked now.

Beverly had finally drifted into that dozing, near-sleep state, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. It was there, out of a darkness as infinite as the night that Jean Luc came to her. His hand reached out and touched her cheek. His deep, resonant voice spoke her name. His eyes smiled at her and she could sense his reassuring thoughts: _Take heart_. Desperately she wanted to believe him. She wanted to touch him to know he was real. She reached for him across the darkness that separated them, and …

…awoke to nothing, her hand stretched out in the emptiness before her.

Despite Jean Luc's words; despite what Lwaxana's question made her want to believe, her logical mind told her otherwise.

The horrible ache returned. Beverly curled up into a fetal position and wept.

Jean Luc jerked his head up off his chest. He must have dozed off, he realized. He had been dreaming—dreaming about Beverly. He had touched her face--spoken her name--seen a mixture of surprise and joy on her troubled face. And he had told her, somehow without speaking, to take heart. She had reached out for him as well. The nearness of her was palpable until suddenly she seemed to be snatched away from him in a swirl of darkness as he came screechingly, heart-poundingly awake.

The dream had been too real. Jean Luc could still feel the lingering sensation of Beverly's soft skin on his fingertips. What he remembered most, though, was her face, and it had been filled with the same fear and grief and exhaustion he had watched her battle when Jack had died. It was a look that he had wanted to spare her from back then; a look he feared he himself had inflicted on her once again through his subterfuge.

Picard wished he knew what was transpiring on the _Enterprise_. Out of the porthole of the cloaked Romulan ship he could finally see his own ship—a small speck in orbit around Betazed. That Sela had chosen to remain nearby, like a predator watching its prey, told Picard she was serious about her threat. That she hadn't acted upon it yet meant either that there was still more that had to happen before she was ready to move or she was in no hurry—knowing, better than he, that the _Enterprise_ was not leaving soon.

Either way, he had to find a way to stop her. Unfortunately, the only plan that came to mind at the moment involved him being destroyed along with the Romulan ship. There was too much to live for these days to find that an acceptable option, but if that were the only way to save Betazed and his crew, it was an option he would have to accept. He'd been willing to considering sacrificing Deanna to save her world; he could ask no less of himself than he had of her.

Despite the fact that he had uncovered the motivation behind Sela's support of the _jzatar_, Jean Luc was beginning to question—and not for the first time—his decision to let his crew think him dead. He had been proceeding under the assumption that whoever the Romulan was who had been behind the _jzatar_, their plans were intimately tied to the outcome of the destruction of the Betazoid people. He realized now that Sela had absolutely no interest in what happened on Betazed, save that it would implicate the Romulans and embroil the Federation and her home world in yet another conflict. In many ways, he had gotten what he came for; the problem was, since no one except Lwaxana knew he was alive, doing something with that information became problematic. It would have been much easier to get off this ship if someone were actually looking for him.

Picard's thoughts drifted back to the _jzatar_. They must have realized that the Chalice had not been genuine. There was no other explanation for the _Enterprise_ remaining at Betazed unless Will felt there was still a threat. The _jzatar_ would do anything to secure the real chalice, including hunting Lwaxana and Deanna across the galaxy. Will would not sit back and wait for that to happen. Somehow he would be pro-active and flush the _jzatar_ out. The only way to do that, Picard knew, was to use bait; and he knew who that bait would have to be.

The door to his quarters slid open and he turned to see Ishara Yar standing in the doorway. A humming sound indicated that the force field had been dropped and she stepped through, letting the door close behind her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her pointedly. She glanced briefly around the room as if looking for something and then focused on Picard.

"When I was here last you looked like a man who had something to say to me," she replied curtly. "I thought you might like the chance to vent your spleen."

"I have nothing to say to you, Ishara," Picard said, dismissively. "What good would it do, anyway? You've chosen your path in life and there's nothing I can do to change you. We gave you an opportunity once and you threw it back in our face. All I know is, for once I'm glad Tasha is not alive, to see what you and Sela have become."

Ishara's eyes flashed fire, but not in anger, Picard noticed. It was more like pain.

"You can leave my sister out of it," she replied, icily. Picard strolled over to the sofa and sat down.

"But I can't," he replied. "After all…she's the reason behind all this. She's behind what you've become and she's behind what Sela has become. Oh…Sela can blame me for her fall from grace in the Romulan hierarchy. She can even blame me for her existence, I suppose, since I'm the one who sent Tasha back on the _Enterprise_-C. But Sela cannot escape the inexcusable fact that she herself was responsible for her mother's death, and it is that event which has driven her to her hatred of both the Federation and Romulus. It's what's driven her to her hatred of herself.

"And as for you…you told me yourself you wanted to follow in your sister's footsteps, yet when you were faced with the slightest obstacle, you turned tail and ran, blaming me every step of the way. Well, I will not accept that blame. If you truly wanted to be like Tasha you would have done anything you could to get into Starfleet—proven them wrong. Hell, proven me wrong. I would have been glad to admit it." Picard let a slight ironic smile play across his lips. "The two of you make a hell of a pair as you both trot across the galaxy trying to kill the memory of a woman who died twice. You deserve each other."

Ishara had stood stock still through his entire tirade. He glanced up, expecting to see someone on the edge of rage. Instead he saw—or at least he thought he saw—unexpected moisture in Ishara's eyes. She looked away quickly, as if trying to hide it. Perhaps here was an opportunity he hadn't anticipated. Sela, he knew, was implacable. The woman was bordering on deranged, he understood now. But Ishara…perhaps he could still reach something in her.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said quietly, he voice softer now. "You don't have to let her make you a part of this apocalypse. Do you really want the millions of deaths that will result from this on your conscience? Is getting revenge upon me—on my people worth that?" He was watching her carefully, looking for any sign that his words were having an effect on her. She seemed to be considering what he'd said. Picard decided to push her just a little more.

"Help me to end this—get me back to my ship. I'll do what I can for you. Perhaps even amnesty…."

Her eyes went cold and he knew before she spoke that he'd lost her.

"I would think you would have better sense, Captain," she said. "I've proven my character to you on several occasions already, and you should know exactly what I'm capable of doing. So I wouldn't get your hopes up, if I were you, Captain. I've betrayed you once, and I'll do it again. You can keep your talk of moral duty and obligation. I just don't care."

She turned abruptly and stalked out of the room. As soon as she left a snap and a hum told him the force field was back in place.

"The tragedy is, Ishara," he said aloud to himself. "I believe you do."

It was the first time Deanna had been alone with Beverly since her return from Betazed. It had taken several hours, but Aleena had finally responded to Deanna's message and agreed to meet with her. They had selected a park which Deanna knew to be near Aleena's home. That Deanna would want to meet in such an open place would make sense to Aleena, and her cousin would not suspect that her whole purpose in the meeting was to be bait for the _jzatar_.

Now it was time to receive the transponder implant. Deanna sat on the edge of the biobed, a sickbay gown wrapped around her. She shivered. Not from the temperature of the room but from the pain she was sensing from Beverly. Deanna was beginning to think they had left her alone long enough. It was time for her friend to talk.

Beverly, however, was all business. She brought out the transponder chip on a tray and showed it to Deanna.

"It's ironic," the doctor said, chattily. "The technology for this was developed from the chip we removed from Ishara Yar all those years ago. Who would have thought we'd be using it for this?"

She anesthetized a section of Deanna's shoulder and using a hypospray deftly inserted it just under the skin. She then stepped back and using a standard tricorder scanned Deanna, concentrating on her shoulder. Beverly nodded approvingly.

"Just as promised. A normal scan does not detect it. Unless they use a sophisticated scanner on you, you should be okay."

Deanna felt the anesthetic wear off and moved her shoulder around some. Beverly watched her.

"Are you experiencing any discomfort?" the doctor asked. Deanna decided it was time to meet Beverly head on.

"Yes, I am."

"Where?" Beverly asked, her brows knit in concern as she used her medical tricorder to assess Deanna's shoulder.

"It's not my shoulder, Beverly. It's you and I. We need to talk."

Beverly ignored her and walked to the wall panel where Deanna's vitals were on display.

"Beverly—don't do this," Deanna pleaded.

Beverly looked from her tricorder to the wall display, apparently distracted.

"Do what?" she asked, absently.

"Shut down like this," Deanna persisted. "Shut the rest of us out."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Beverly replied, still intent upon her display. Deanna slipped off the biobed and stood next to her friend.

"Yes, you do."

Beverly looked up at her and smiled.

"Deanna—I appreciate your concern, really I do. But I'm fine."

The forced smile on Beverly's face proved to Deanna that her friend was anything but fine. The pain pouring off the woman was so overwhelming she'd had to finally shut down her empathic sense.

"I don't believe you," Deanna said stubbornly, crossing her arms and blocking Beverly's way. Beverly was forced to look at her and Deanna saw her expression change instantly. What lay beneath was an anguish even greater than she had thought.

"Deanna…." Beverly's voice was strangely desperate. "Please…just let me do my job. I…I can't help Jean Luc any more, but I can help you. The most important thing now is to get you down there and to get you back safely." Beverly's eyes glistened. "After all, Kestra needs her mother."

"And what does Beverly need?" Deanna threw back at her, unwilling to be put off just yet. "Talk to me!" she insisted, holding Beverly's eyes with her own. Beverly's eyes pleaded with her.

"I…I can't, Deanna. Not right now…."

The two women stood there, facing each other in silence. Deanna dropped her empathic defenses slightly and winced. Finally she bit her lip and nodded, understanding coming to her: the only thing holding Beverly together was her belief in her own composure. If so much as one millimeter of her carefully crafted veneer were to crack, Beverly herself would shatter like so much broken glass. As much as she longed to put her arms around Beverly and comfort her, Deanna realized the gesture might be just the thing that would cause her friend to unravel. Instead, she merely placed her hand on Beverly's arm as she tapped her communicator.

"Troi to Captain Riker," she said quietly.

Will's voice responded.

"Riker here."

Deanna took one more questioning look at Beverly, who nodded.

"Will—I'm ready to go."


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Ishara Yar forced herself to remain seated despite the fact that she desperately wanted to burn off her nervous energy by pacing back and forth on the bridge. Movement helped keep her focused; she thought best when her body was engaged in some type of action. Sela, however, had glared at her the last time she had tried to move about, and so Ishara had stifled her natural predilection and found a seat out of the way. It was irritating to just sit and wait. Even a trip to visit Picard had not gone as she had planned, and was probably why she was even more on edge than she had a right to be.

She thought back to the day Drang had arranged her fate with Sela and the jzataran leader called Magda. Despite the Ferengi's nerves, he had managed to carry out the assignment. They had agreed to her terms and had accepted the plans she had labored for nearly three months to carefully construct. Even though she had always felt Sela was holding something back from her, she proceeded with the best information she had and in the end felt that she had managed to plan for every contingency. Her many years in the business, however, had taught her that no plan ever proceeded without a glitch, and hers was sitting locked in the Romulan Consul's quarters.

Sela's getting her hands on Picard was never in doubt. It was, in fact, the one key point the Romulan would not budge on in the early stages of their plans. The fact that it had happened sooner than anticipated delighted her to no end. It did, however, upset the carefully constructed timetable that Ishara had laid out, causing Sela to want to move things along faster than were planned.

It hadn't helped that Magda and her people had failed to get their hands on the Sacred Chalice of Rixx. The object Lwaxana Troi had been carrying with her had been a fake, a fact the _jzatar_ had discovered shortly after the _Enterprise_ had rescued the Trois. Magda had been furious, blaming Sela for interfering by beaming Picard out of the milieu that had ensued after the explosion. Sela had been amazingly calm, Ishara thought, considering that one large piece of the plan had gone awry, and she had let Magda vent her spleen before explaining coolly that finding the chalice was Magda's responsibility, not hers. In fact, Ishara thought, now that Sela had Picard, it seemed to her that the rest of the plan did not matter very much at all, except for the destruction of the _Enterprise_ and the release of the Theleron weapon. She wondered how much of this shift Magda herself detected, especially as the Betazoid glared at them all from the oversized forward view screen.

"We cannot proceed with the plan until we have the chalice!" Magda was reiterating with great vehemence to Sela. The Romulan looked vaguely bored.

"Look, Magda," she replied dismissively. "I can't wait out here forever. I won't allow the Enterprise to leave orbit in one piece, chalice or not."

Magda glared at her. Ishara studied the Betazoid carefully. She had always tried to keep out of sight when it came to the telepaths. Her mind carried too many secrets to let them go poking around in it. Ishara had not had a great deal of experience with Betazoids in general. She found them vaguely unsettling—even Deanna Troi, whom she had met only briefly all those years ago above Turkana IV. Maybe it was their dark, pupil filled eyes; or maybe it was that they seemed to know more about her than she knew about herself. Whatever it was, they made her uncomfortable, and Magda more so than any other. It could have been her single-minded fanaticism, Ishara thought, but then she had run up against others as fanatical, if not even more so. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what Magda planned to do, should she assemble all the sacred object of Betazed and access the genetic code. But then the Borg and the Founders hadn't had a much better plan for the species of the Alpha Quadrant either. As she watched the exchange between Magda and Sela, however, it finally came to her: Magda was the most unattractive Betazoid she had ever seen. In another species Ishara wouldn't have given it a thought; but Betazoids were, by nature, one of the most striking races in the Quadrant. Not startlingly, seductively beautiful, but possessed, somehow, of a combination of physical attractiveness and inner serenity that made them, male or female, appealing in their appearance. Magda had none of this. She was faded and endomorphic and somehow hollow, bereft of the tranquility that most Betazoid's seemed to have. And she was shouting now at Sela.

"Without the Chalice we will have achieved nothing!"

Ishara could see her shake with rage. Sela, however, maintained her detachment. Her manner was as frigidly chill as Magda's was hot.

"Then I suggest you devise a way to find it—soon."

Ishara watched as Magda struggled to calm herself.

"Momentarily we will have the half-breed, and I assure you, we will use whatever means are necessary to find out where the Chalice is. But we need Lwaxana Troi alive. If you destroy the Enterprise with her on it, the Chalice will be lost forever," Magda explained.

"Then why are you wasting time talking to me?" replied Sela, impatiently, hitting a key on the arm of her chair, deactivating the screen. The sudden return to the image of the Enterprise was startling.

Ishara said nothing but watched her niece. Sela was clearly calculating. She stared unmoving except for her fingers steepling and unsteepling at her chin. After a few moments of silence, she slammed her hand down on her chair arm. Ishara saw several of the bridge crew jump at the unexpected sound.

"Incompetents," she exclaimed, more to herself than to anyone in particular. "Trust a Betazoid to take a perfectly good plan and ruin it." Her fingers played with the large medallion around her neck as she appeared to mull the situation over. Finally her eyes swept around the bridge and lighted on Ishara. She crooked her finger at her and Ishara immediately stood and strode over to the command chair.

"Your plan seems to be going awry," Sela commented. Ishara wasn't about to accept any blame.

"It's not my fault they can't tell a real chalice from a fake," she shot back. "If they'd had the real chalice we'd be halfway to the Badlands by now."

Sela contemplated the image of the Enterprise, keeping synchronous orbit above Betazed, still fingering the medallion. Suddenly she stood.

"I'm tired of waiting," she announced. "Magda's had her chance. It's unimportant to me if they purify Betazed or not."

She turned her blazing eyes to Ishara, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

"I believe you have ship to get to, Auntie," she said smoothly. A knot of anticipation squeezed hard in Ishara's gut. This was the moment she had been waiting for, but it was coming too soon.

"What about the Theleron weapons?" she countered. "Magda won't use it until she has the code."

"Magda and her schemes are no longer important. I have my own plans for Betazed, with or without the jzatar," Sela replied smoothly, patting the medallion around her neck affectionately. Ishara felt a chill run through her as she realized what it was. As she suspected, Sela had indeed been holding something back. Ishara wondered vaguely how much latinum Sela'd had to pay Jazel Kay for the device—and whether her competitor would find it worth the price when she returned. If she returned.

As the lift carried her haltingly toward the shuttle bay, Ishara ran over the contingencies once again in her mind. It bothered her that she hadn't seen Sela's betrayal of the _jzatar_ coming. It just reinforced for her that this particular deal was way too personal; it had clouded her ability to look at the whole picture objectively. The results could be—fatal. Bemusedly she found herself wondering if Drang would enjoy owning the bar or if, without her guidance, he would fall into ruin yet again. It would be a shame, she thought, to see all that she had worked so hard for fall under the care of someone else.

By the time she climbed into the open hatch of the stolen Betazoid Defense Flyer, Ishara had shaken off the feeling of impending doom, reminding herself that going out with a fatalistic attitude would get her killed as quickly as Sela's altered plans would. If she had any hope of salvaging the situation and making it through this alive, she had to think quick and act faster.

As she piloted the Flyer out of the shuttle bay, heading for a gap in the still-sporadic Betazoid defensive grid, she hoped she was up to the task.

Just about any park on Betazed was a lovely place to be in the afternoon. Couples strolled silently along flower-lined paths. Children played on a nearby playground. People sat on benches reading or dozing in the sunlight or just watching others go by. The Palisades Park of Ileai was one of the loveliest of the parks in the city. And as Deanna saw it appear though the transporter beam she recalled having spent several relaxing afternoons here herself as a girl.

Despite its beauty and the brightness of the sunshine, Deanna couldn't help but feel as though the park had an ominous aura about it. She glanced around, looking for Mr. Homn, who had beamed down several minutes earlier at a different location. He has signaled his arrival at the rendezvous point, but was no where to be seen. Deanna knew he had to be there, however, blending perfectly into a bush or some such thing. It bothered her a little that she didn't know exactly where he was, but then, if she didn't know, neither would Aleena or any of the _jzatar_.

She spotted Aleena sitting on a bench about twenty meters away. The spot where Beverly had inserted the transponder chip itched, but Deanna made a conscious effort not to scratch it. She took a deep breath and walked over to her cousin, sitting down next to her.

Aleena seemed startled by her appearance, or perhaps she was just jumpy, Deanna thought. Her cousin looked around cautiously, to see if Deanna was alone as promised. When she seemed satisfied, she turned to Deanna and waited.

"Hello, Aleena," Deanna began. It was not easy, talking to someone who, for a while at least, had wanted her dead. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"I wasn't sure it was a good idea…I'm still not. What do you want, Deanna?" asked Aleena, still nervous.

"I thought we could talk," Deanna said, trying to sound soothing. "I had a sense, at my mother's house, that you were involved in something you really didn't want to be involved in. I thought perhaps I could help."

Aleena studied her carefully. Deanna wasn't sure if she were being assessed for her sincerity or if Aleena were just stalling for time.

"Fine," she said after a few moments. A deep sigh escaped her. "Here's how you help. Give me the Chalice, make me the Daughter of the Fifth House and you and your mother and your baby girl can get off of Betazed and leave the rest to us."

"Aleena," said Deanna, cautiously. "You do understand what they intend to do with the Chalice, once they have it."

Aleena plucked at an invisible thread on the sleeve of her shirt. Her eyes would not meet Deanna's

"All they want, Deanna, is to purify Betazed. We've come to far from where we were supposed to be," Aleena explained. Deanna closed her eyes and shook her head.

"It's called genocide, Aleena. You can dress it up any way you want, but it's still mass murder," she said in horror.

Aleena put her hands over her ears and shook her head. Deanna reached up and pulled one hand away.

"You can't hide from this, Aleena. Do you think the _Jzatar_ will spare you, just because you're the Daughter of the Fifth House? The House of Rixx has intermarried many times with the other houses! You're no more "pure Betazoid" than I am. They won't spare you, no matter what you think."

Aleena had pulled away from Deanna's grasp and sat at the far end of the bench, breathing with great difficulty. Deanna could sense her cousin's fear. Without a doubt the woman had gotten involved in something that she had lost control of.

"I only ever just wanted to be the Daughter of the Fifth House, Deanna!" she moaned. "Even when I was a little girl, I would beg Aunt Lwaxana to let me see the Chalice. I used to imagine participating in the holidays, presiding over the Feast of Bonding, riding in the parades. You didn't want it—you never wanted it…you left Betazed! I'm the one who stayed…I'm the one who cared! The Chalice should have gone to me!"

Deanna looked at her sadly. She thought of her mother who, out of duty and fealty had accepted the role of Daughter of the Fifth House ever so reluctantly and who had developed what Deanna now understood was a persona created to uphold that role in Betazed society. Here, next to her, was someone who craved that role so badly that she had spent her whole life coveting it. Aleena was right; Lwaxana should have made her the Daughter, then Lwaxana and Deanna and Kestra could have been rid of the burden of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx.

"I'm sorry, Aleena," was all Deanna could think of to say. "I wish you had been imprinted instead of me. I'd be happy to be out of this whole mess."

Aleena looked at her through red-rimmed eyes.

"Then imprint me, Deanna. You can do it," Aleena said hopefully.

"I can't. Mother won't tell me where the Chalice is. Besides, I cannot allow you to turn it over to the _jzatar_. They will do as I've said they will, and you will not survive."

Aleena reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping her eyes.

"You were right about one thing, Deanna," she said, soberly. "I am involved in something I don't want to be. I really didn't think they meant to kill you, or Aunt Lwaxana…I thought they were just saying that to frighten the other Daughters."

Deanna shook her head at her cousin's naiveté.

"They had already murdered the Daughters of the other four Houses, Aleena. Why did you think they'd treat the House of Rixx any differently?"

"I didn't know they'd killed them…" Aleena pleaded, tears trickling from here eyes again. "I really believed they were accidents, like the news said…except for Sorana Xerix, that is. They reported that as a robbery. I…I guess I didn't want to accept that the _jzatar_ were that brutal. They didn't seem that way when I first met them."

She played with the handkerchief, twisting it into knots.

"But then at your mother's house, Aunt Lwaxana told me what had happened. I didn't want to believe her at first, but then there were all those guards, with all those weapons, and all the new Daughters were terrified. I realized that maybe they were serious about killing you." She took the handkerchief and blew her nose. "Then when saw you with your little baby…I couldn't…I mean, I didn't think…but they would have! I know that now. They would have killed her too! I don't want that to happen, Deanna. I'm so sorry!"

Aleena's voice broke off in a sob. Deanna reached over and put her arm around her cousin who turned and wept onto her shoulder. After several minutes Aleena straightened up, dry sobs still shaking her body.

"Aleena—it's all right. I understand. I forgive you…" Deanna's words brought fresh tears. Aleena shook her head.

"No—don't, Deanna. I'm just so scared now…and I'm so sorry. I'm…I'm just glad you came alone this time."

Deanna barely had time to register the words. There was a sound behind her and as she turned she saw a disruptor pointed right in her face. She looked back quickly at Aleena, whose head was bowed. She would not meet Deanna's gaze. Even though she had been expecting this, Deanna still felt the sting of her cousin's betrayal.

There was the snap of a branch and Deanna looked around to see three more

members of the _jzatar_ surrounding her, all armed and pointing her way. As she made to touch her communicator, one of the _jzatar_ reached over and snatched it away from her. A second later it was a cooling smudge on the sidewalk. Deanna looked at it with some relief: now Will would know that their plan had worked. The communicator had been a decoy; upon its destruction it would have sent a signal to the _Enterprise_.

Not speaking, the _jzatar_ indicated that Deanna and Aleena should stand. One of the men touched an arm band and Deanna heard the familiar whine of a transporter beam. She closed her eyes and prayed that Mr. Homn's transporter effect was twinkling along side of her.

When Deanna rematerialized for the final time she thought perhaps they had beamed aboard the _jzatar_ ship. They had made three different stops before arriving here—wherever here was. There was a noticeable hum in the air and a vibration to the floor and walls around them. After a few minutes, however, she realized they were not the sounds and sensations one felt on a space vessel. They were more rhythmic, more mechanical. She decided that they must be in some underground facility on Betazed, perhaps beneath a manufacturing plant of some kind—some place that used heavy machinery. She tried to create a mental picture of the sounds and the nondescript place where they were and send it to her mother, but she had no idea if her mother were sensing her or not. It was a long way to the _Enterprise_.

One of the _jzatar_ poked her in the back with a disruptor.

"Don't count on a rescue this time," he told her, as if he had tapped into her mental message to her mother. Deanna realized he probably had. If these were pure-blooded Betazoids, they probably had extraordinary telepathic powers. She would have to be more careful.

They walked for some distance, through darkened gray rooms with metallic walls. Deanna tried to find something of distinction in each area, in case she had to find her way out, but after a while it became hard to tell one room from the next. Even though Aleena walked behind her, Deanna had the sense that she too was a prisoner and no longer an equal in the group.

At last they came to a dark hallway, off of which Deanna saw several small rooms, all in a row. The first two were empty, their doors ajar. But the door of the next one was closed, as were the three after it. Deanna felt definite presences behind each door. All of them were fearful, grief-stricken and resigned. It occurred to Deanna that she had sensed these same beings before…at her mother's house, sitting around her dining room table. The other four Daughters of the Houses of Betazed were locked in those rooms, awaiting the arrival of the Chalice of Rixx. Deanna knew, with sickening certainty, that it would not be long before she would join them in confinement.

Her captors led her past the makeshift cells, however and into one last room. It was no different from any of the others that they had passed through, except this one was filled with equipment and supplies. A large table with many chairs was pushed off to one side while one chair sat alone, in the middle of the room. It was to this chair that the _jzatar_ led Deanna and pushed her roughly into.

A woman approached her. Deanna recognized her as the same woman—Magda—who had led the group at her mother's house. She seemed too petite, too delicate to be behind so deadly an atrocity, but Deanna knew better. Size did not matter when it came to obsession and fanaticism.

"Let's make this easy on all of us, shall we?" Magda asked Deanna. Deanna made no reply.

"Fine," said the woman, as if she had been expecting Deanna's behavior. "Tell me…where is the true Sacred Chalice of Rixx?"

"I don't know," Deanna told her truthfully, grateful that her mother had kept her secret.

The woman gazed over at the side of the room. The man who had pushed her with his disruptor shook his head.

"She's telling the truth," he called. "She really doesn't know where it is."

"Then who does?" the woman asked her. Deanna considered lying, but with the humanoid truth detector in the room there was really little point in it. She was careful, though, to keep most of her other thoughts shielded.

"Only my mother knows, and she's vowed not to tell anyone," Deanna replied.

The woman squinted her eyes at Deanna.

"She has, has she?" she asked, pondering. "Well, I'll bet she'd tell us if your life depended upon it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Deanna told her, defiantly. "She was willing to let me die before. Why do you think she'd save me now?"

The woman looked at the high-level telepath who Deanna saw shrug. Good. There was just enough truth in her response to make it ambiguous.

"We shall see about that." Magda strolled over to a table on which had been set up several technical devices. Deanna recognized the small communications array. It was set up through a scrambler so that the source of the transmission could not be detected. The site of her own transponder chip itched again, but she tried her best to ignore it. She just hoped her people were tracking her clearly.

Magda glanced up at her, expectantly.

"Oh, I wouldn't go on hoping they'll locate you any time soon," she said casually. "We've set up a scatter field. Anything you've got hidden or implanted won't penetrate it. I'm afraid you simply belong to us now."

Beverly was in her office entering the data on Mr. Homn's revival into the computer when she noticed her hand was trembling. Grabbing it with her other hand, she tried to still it, except now both hands were shaking. She realized then that her whole body was trembling as well, and nothing she did would make it stop. Wave after wave of uncontrollable convulsions swept through her as she wrapped her lab coat more tightly about her, futilely trying to drive away the sudden chill. There was nothing to do for it, she knew. She had seen it too many times in her life not to know what it was. Finally, she realized, the events of the past twenty-four hours were catching up with her and her body was finally succumbing to the stress and strain of that time. It was a form of shock and all she could do was wait for it to pass.

As she sat there shivering she saw a shadow fall over her desk. Beverly looked up, fearing it was a member of her staff, finding her in this condition. Instead, she saw Wesley's concerned face looking down at her. She had been avoiding him along with everyone else. In a way, she thought, it had been more for his sake than hers. She hadn't wanted him to see her like this for fear it would resurrect the old pain of his father's death.

"Wesley…"she tried to smile at him through her nearly chattering teeth. "I was just…just…I was just entering Mr. Homn's data…." Try as she might, she could not stop the shaking.

"Mom…." His voice was gentle as her grown son came around the side of the desk and squatted in front of her, taking her trembling hands in his.

"Can you believe I didn't have a file on him…he's never been aboard the _Enterprise_ _E_ before…so I had to create a whole new…." She told him, trying to ignore both her trembling and his face. She was successful at neither.

"Mom…it's okay," he told her, his eyes fixed on hers. His father's eyes, she noted. She could hardly speak now, the tremors had gotten so violent. "It's okay to grieve, Mom. It's okay to cry."

Beverly shook her head. She would not give into this, not yet.

"There's too much to d-do…we have to figure out a way…" she stuttered. Wesley squeezed her hand.

" Mom…" he began. Beverly tore her hands free from him and stood up. Standing seemed to give her back some control over her body again.

"No…no!" She shouted at him. " I swore I'd never go through this again, Wesley. When your father died, I wanted to throw myself on that table with him and never get up again. But I had you… you were what kept me going. I had to keep going for you. And I did."

Wesley stood up with her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"And now you have to keep going for you, Mom. But you can't go anywhere if you don't accept the pain. You've got to feel the wound before it can heal."

She wanted to tell him that he didn't know what he was talking about, but she stopped herself in time. Unfortunately he did know, and only too well. He had loved Colleen, perhaps even as much as she loved Jean Luc. Her death had changed Wesley, refined him, removed from him the last vestige of the boy she had known.

And it had given him a wisdom he was now trying to share with her. She knew it was time to listen. Even her body was telling her so.

"Wesley," she gasped, the hurt finally coming out in big ragged heaves. "It… hurts… so… much!" Great sobs escaped from her body.

Wesley wrapped his arms around her and held her, as she remembered holding him when he had grieved over his father.

"I know it does, Mom," he said, rocking her gently back and forth. "I know."

Picard felt exhausted, despite the fact that he'd done nothing but sit, eat and occasionally doze in his confined quarters on Sela's Romulan warbird. He felt drained, as if every emotion were absolutely wrung from his body. He finally decided it was the strain of not being able to do anything, of sitting here watching his ship from afar and knowing their fate without being able to raise a hand to stop it.

He had been frustrated with his efforts with Ishara the day before. She hadn't been back to visit him since, nor had Sela, which was fine with him. He had come to the inescapable conclusion that Sela had indeed stepped over some line of sanity. That she could even conceive of such a scheme as this, let alone put it into action, belied the rational person she had appeared to be in his previous dealings with her. That in and of itself frightened him nearly as much as the fate that awaited them all.

In his hours of emptiness he had completely scoured his quarters, looking for some means of escape. If he could only get some sort of message off to the _Enterprise_, Lwaxana could verify his existence. They would come for him then and perhaps preempt whatever timetable Sela appeared to be working with. In his search he had found multiple surveillance devices. He wasn't surprised his room was bugged—it was almost standard Romulan procedure to trust no one under any circumstances. He was annoyed, however, and so he very deliberately and systematically removed and destroyed each device, leaving them in a little pile on the table for Sela, if she ever chose to visit him again.

He had also tried replicating various objects that he had hoped to cobble together to make a communications device of some kind. Picard had good luck at first, getting a tricorder and a padd-like object of Romulan design, but the replicator had shut him off after that. It was as if someone were monitoring its use and could tell where he was going with his requests. He'd tried to make something with what he had, but after a while he abandoned his effort, recognizing it as futile.

So now he just sat, this cloak of fatigue hanging over him, thinking, perhaps at the very least, of trying to run the force field that guarded his room. If it had as deleterious an effect as Sela had implied, it might render him unconscious, or perhaps even incapacitate him enough so he could not be a participant in Sela's carefully choreographed destruction of his ship. In which case, she might postpone the event, giving more time for the _Enterprise_ to leave Betazed and out of Sela's range. And if by chance he got through the force field…and the guards stationed in the hallway…he might just find a shuttle or a transmitter or maybe just a heavy stick and take out half the warbirds circuitry. It was hard to believe this bucket of bolts could destroy his _Enterprise_, considering the shape it was in. Still, he did not believe Sela made idle threats.

When the door opened, Picard was surprised. He had drifted off momentarily, the exhaustion still heavy on him. He waited for someone to enter, but only the two guards stood at the door. When the hum signaled the loss of the force field, one of the guards pointed at Picard with his disruptor, indicating he was to leave the room. Picard perked up at this. Finally, they were taking him out. What might be his only opportunity to disrupt Sela's plans would come soon, he knew. He would have to be alert and watch for it.

His escorts, one in front and one behind, led him to a turbo lift and from there to the bridge of the ship. With the magnification on the view screen he could see the _Enterprise_ much better as it drifted in what appeared to be synchronous orbit around Betazed. A sickening feeling came over him as he thought of Sela's plan. If he had harbored any doubts about interceding, the sight of his ship shoved them away. He would act, and soon. Even if it meant his own death, it would be worth it. At least his crew would live—his friends—and Beverly. They already presumed him dead, so in some ways, he thought, what happened to him now really did not matter.

Sela called to him from her command chair and motioned him to join her. As much as the idea repulsed him, he did as she asked and sat in the seat she indicated. Her eyes danced way too brightly in the dim light of the Romulan bridge and her smile was anything but reassuring.

"Well, Captain," she said, indicating the _Enterprise_ on the main viewer. "Are you prepared for my greatest achievement yet?"

"If you mean the destruction of the _Enterprise_, you're gravely mistaken, Sela. You will not succeed," he told her curtly. Her smile only broadened.

"And who, pray tell, is going to stop me? You?"

There was a dead earnestness in Picard's voice.

"Yes."

She must have recognized the seriousness of his intent, for her features hardened slightly.

"Don't count on it, Picard. I would get a great deal of enjoyment out of watching you see your ship destroyed. But don't think I wouldn't get nearly as much pleasure from placing my disruptor to your head and firing if I thought you were going to get in my way. Remember that."

Picard, however, would not be intimidated.

"And you remember this, Sela. They already think I'm dead, so my death, at this point really doesn't matter. If that's what it takes to stop you, then I'm willing to do it."

She glowered at him for a few seconds and then waved her hand, as if dismissing his words.

"I thought you might like to be here for the final unfolding of my great plan," she continued, as though their harsh exchange had never occurred. "That assumes, of course, those half-witted fanatics can finally get something right. It was very tricky of Lwaxana Troi to replicate a fake Chalice. It was a deception worthy of a Romulan. But now, I understand, the _jzatar_ once more have your lovely Deanna Troi in their custody. Very soon Lwaxana will surrender the Chalice in exchange for her life, and our plan can proceed as intended."

"You underestimate Lwaxana Troi," Picard told her flatly. "She will not turn over the Chalice. Not even if it means her daughter's life. There is too much at stake here and she knows it. She will not be coerced."

Sela smiled sweetly.

"Oh but you're wrong, Captain. People can always be coerced. It's just a matter of finding the right thing. They'll buckle under every time, no matter how noble their intentions."

"I assure you, Sela. Threats of Deanna's death will not cause Ambassador Troi to give up the Chalice," Picard reiterated. At least he hoped it wouldn't. He knew Lwaxana would willingly give her own life for her daughter. Whether she was willing to give her daughter's life to prevent the atrocity that loomed, he confessed it did not know.

"Death is not always an adequate threat, though, wouldn't you agree? There are so many more effective ways to inflict pain and torment, almost making one wish they were dead. But then, I believe, Captain, you've had some experience with that?" she murmured.

Picard felt his muscles tense. For four days he had been tortured by a sadistic Cardassian gul. The physical pain had been only part of it. The tampering with his emotions, his dignity, his mind…it had nearly broken him. Death, indeed, would have been preferable at times.

"And Betazoids are so unique, aren't they? There are so many other ways to inflict them with pain than ordinary humans. The possibilities are…intriguing," Sela concluded. Picard realized he was gripping his arm rests very tightly and willed his fingers to relax. If their intent was indeed to torture Deanna, he could very well imagine Lwaxana giving in and turning over the Chalice. Another very good reason why it was incumbent upon him to act. He could not allow the destruction of Betazed, even at the cost of his life and the _Enterprise_.

A signal alert sounded from Sela's console. As she read the message a smile once more spread across her face. She turned her self-satisfied expression upon Picard.

"I'm sorry you and Ishara didn't get to spend more time together, Captain. She's an amazingly resourceful individual—much more creative than I am, and I always thought myself to be really quite imaginative. Would you believe it was her idea to rig up a Betazed Defense Flyer with an enhanced harmonic shield disruptor and pass her ship off as a member of the Betazed Defense Force? Your people will be expecting the _jzatar_ ship, of course. They won't give a second glance to one little ship of an ineffectual squadron of Betazoids."

Picard said nothing, because there was nothing to say. She was right. The _Enterprise_ would pay little attention to a small group of ships they perceived as friendlies. Their shields would be stripped and they would be vulnerable to attack. Sela and Ishara had worked out their plan perfectly. Picard felt physically ill.

Sela stretched out luxuriously in her command chair, her hand playing once again with the Reaman-marked medallion.

" Things are going as exactly as expected, Captain," she said happily. "We should have this over in no time at all. What a wonderful day this will be!"


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Lwaxana stood in the center of the _Enterprise_ bridge and faced down the Betazoid woman on the view screen. Will, sitting on the edge of his old seat, could barely contain himself, but he knew this was Lwaxana's gambit and he had to let her play it out. At the moment, however, things were not going as planned.

They had received the signal from Deanna's communicator when it had been destroyed. Her transponder signal had been tracked through three different transporter stations, but after the last one, the signal had disappeared. Beverly and Worf were hunched over the tactical console trying to remodulate the scanner to see if they could pick it up, but it was Worf's opinion that the last transporter jump had taken them within range of a scatter field. It would be possible to locate it, he said, but it would take time. Maybe more time than they had, if Will were any judge of character. And he was of the definite opinion that the woman on the view screen had very little character at all.

For the moment, however, all eyes were on Lwaxana.

"For the thousandth time, I will not turn over the Chalice of Rixx to you," she said vehemently, her lips drawn thin in anger. "And you might as well not even bother to threaten killing my daughter. You need her alive in order to make the darned thing work."

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"There are worse things that can happen to your daughter than death, Lwaxana Rixx," warned the leader of the _jzatar_. "After all—to imprint Aleena all we need is the half-breed alive—and, of course, the true chalice."

Will saw Lwaxana raise her chin in defiance, although behind her back, out of sight of the _jzatar_, her hands were trembling fiercely.

"I…" her voice faltered slightly. "I will think about it."

There was a slight hint of victory in Magda's eyes.

"Very well. You have fifteen minutes."

The view screen blinked off.

Geordi spoke before anyone else.

"We got a good scan of their transmission, Commander," he said to Worf. "I can't pinpoint their location directly, but I can give you about a three kilometer radius for it's point of origin."

Worf and Beverly exchanged glances.

"That will help," Worf said, approvingly. "If they are using a scatter field, we should be able to detect it within an area that size."

Will had gone to Lwaxana and helped her back to his seat. The woman seemed exhausted by her encounter. Looking up gratefully, she patted Will's face.

"I thought for sure we could hold them to a stalemate, William," she said apologetically. "I never dreamed they might resort to…" she couldn't finish the sentence but just closed her eyes and shook her head despondently. Will had often envied Betazoids' telepathic abilities, but for once he was glad not to have him. He did not want to know the images the _jzatar_ woman had placed in Lwaxana's thoughts. He looked desperately at Worf.

"Is that it?" asked Beverly, urgently pointing at something on the console. Worf nodded.

"It is possible…." He zoomed in and refined his parameters of the scanners. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Sir…we have located the scatter field. We have a beam-down site."

Relief spread through Will and he smiled down at his mother-in-law's tear-stained face.

"Prepare your rescue teams, Mr. Worf," ordered Data. "And alert the Betazed Security Force."

Will, Worf and Beverly headed toward the turbo lift. The door had just opened when the ensign at the comm called out:

"Romulan Warbird decloaking, sir!"

"Shields up," ordered Data. The turbo lift door slid closed with no one inside.

"What the hell?" asked Will, striding back to the main bridge.

"It is the same ship as before," reported Worf, resuming his position at tactical.

"William…" asked Lwaxana urgently. Will looked at her apologetically.

"We can't beam down with the shields up," he said. Damn. He thought. Was this just bad luck or was this part of the _jzatar_'s plan? It didn't make sense for them to attack the _Enterprise_ with Lwaxana on board. She was the only one who knew where the chalice was.

"They're firing," reported the ensign. The ship rocked slightly as the shields absorbed the blast.

"Shields are holding, Commander," reported Worf.

"Return fire, Mr. Worf," ordered Data calmly. Phasers fired from beneath the _Enterprise_ and played out along the Romulan shields.

"Minimal damage to the Warbird," came Worf's report.

"Commander…" came Wesley's voice from the back of the bridge. "We have a launch of the Betazed Defense Force. They signal they are coming to assist."

Will looked at Data.

"Did we ask for their help?" he said. Data shook his head.

"We did not. And while we might appreciate their effort, they are no match against a Romulan vessel of this size. They have a high probability of casualties."

Will turned to Worf.

"Mr. Worf, signal them to keep their distance. We don't want anyone dying in the cross fire and they don't stand a chance against that Warbird."

Worf did as told and reported back a moment later.

"They will comply, Captain. However they insist upon maintaining a low orbit around Betazed in order to protect the planet."

Will shook his head.

"The greatest threat is already on the planet," he muttered. The _Enterprise_ shook once more as another blast from the Romulan ship hit.

"Shields are down to ninety-two percent," Worf informed them. There was a call over the comm from the transporter room.

"Commander—the security teams are ready whenever there's a window," came the chief's voice.

"They're not going anywhere as long as that ship is out there," Will told Data bitterly.

"Nevertheless, they should remain on standby," replied Data. He repeated his instructions to the transporter chief.

"Understood, Sir. Transporter Room out."

"Sir…" came Wesley's voice urgently this time. "Someone is activating a harmonic shield disruptor. It's directed at our shields."

"Where's it coming from?" asked Will, walking toward the view screen as if he could see the culprit ship.

Wesley worked a few moment at his panel.

"It's coming from one of the Betazed ships, Sir. It must be a _jzatar_ ship."

At Wesley's warning Data had begun his efforts at remodulating the shields.

"Data…can you go any faster?" asked Geordi, monitoring from the back.

"I am at my capacity," replied Data, his hands flying. Geordi whistled.

"Man—I don't know where they got this one from, but it's not anything like the other one. I don't think we can outrun this one…"

As if in response to his prediction there was a momentary dimming of the lights on the bridge.

"Shields are down!" called Wesley.

"Romulan ship firing!" warned Worf. Everyone reached for a solid foundation as the shot tore against the side of the ship. With the jolt the bridge went momentarily dark before the emergency lights came on.

"Damage to the port nacelle," reported Worf, as soon as he had righted himself.

There was a page from the intercom.

"Transporter to the bridge. The rescue teams have beamed down, Commander."

Deanna had listened to Magda's conversation with Lwaxana from her cell in the adjacent hallway and felt her hope slipping away. Things were not supposed to have progressed this far. By now the _Enterprise_ security teams should have been here as well as Betazed Security. As Magda had promised, the scatter field was indeed blocking her signal. Deanna had heard the desperation in her mother's voice as she stalled for time by agreeing to consider turning over the chalice. Will, she was certain, was beside himself.

Deanna refused to give in to the despair she felt creeping in on her. She had to believe that they would find her. She tried to envision Will's welcoming embrace, the heat of his lips on hers, the gentle way he would whisper _Imzadi_. She made herself feel the warmth of Kestra's small body snuggled against her own, the penetrating look of her dark, Betazoid eyes, the empathic bond she shared with her daughter. It helped.

It also helped to know that she wasn't exactly alone. She had finally seen Mr. Homn. After they had put her in the cell and left her alone, he had emerged briefly from the wall across from her door. Giving her his usual enigmatic smile he had melded again with the background and vanished. At least, she thought, he will help protect me if the _jzatar_ carry out their threat.

Deanna had no doubt but that the _jzatar_ were sincere in their promise to torture her. Betazoids were not prone to physical violence, although obviously the _jzatar_ had seemed to overcome that particular aversion. Nonetheless, given their incredible telepathic abilities, she could well imagine several ways they might find to induce pain and suffering in her mind. It frightened her. It frightened her even more than the thought of physical pain. Wounds to the body could be healed; wounds to the mind were often irreversible. She feared becoming a hollow shell, lost to Will and Kestra forever.

Aleena, at least for now, had not been locked up like Deanna and the other Daughters. When Deanna had last seen her she had been standing in the shadows, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. Apparently the _jzatar_ still considered her one of them. Deanna didn't know if she had reached her cousin or not—whether Aleena still so hungered to be the Daughter of the Fifth House that she would sacrifice her own soul to achieve it. At this point, Deanna thought, it really hardly mattered, at least as far as her own situation was concerned. All she could sense from her cousin was absolute terror. Even if Aleena did not want to be involved any longer with the _jzatar_, she would never be able to stand up to them.

Deanna did not have a chrono with her and so it was difficult to gauge when fifteen minutes were up. She knew, however, it must be near when two jzataran guards came and unlocked her door, motioning for her to get up. Terrified as she was, she tried to block her emotions. She refused to give them the satisfaction of her fear, no matter what they had planned for her.

They led her back to the chair in the center of the room. Magda approached and stood before her, silently appraising her for a few moments before speaking.

"Your mother is a very determined woman," she said at last. "I thought perhaps her affection for the off-worlders would have made her weak, but I can see she still holds some pride as the Daughter of the House of Rixx. Her time has expired and she has not contacted us. It is time to convince her otherwise."

A cold chill ran down Deanna's spine. She tried not to glance around the room, not to think of Mr. Homn. Instead she focused all her attention on the woman in front of her and tried once more to buy just a little more time.

"You won't get away with this, you know," Deanna warned her. "I may be Betazoid, but I'm also a Starfleet officer. The captain of my ship will hunt you from one end of the galaxy to the other if you kill me."

"If you refer to your husband and the _Enterprise_, I really am not concerned. We have friends who have been waiting very patiently for a chance to take care of that matter for us," she replied nonchalantly.

Deanna's heart raced. They had been so focused on the events on Betazed she had never considered that the _Enterprise_ itself might be in danger. Will…Kestra…her mother. Perhaps Beverly had been right after all. Maybe there was more to this than just Betazed.

"Then I guess you aren't adverse to working with off-worlders when it suits your needs," she threw out, tauntingly, desperately.

"We have found those who are…sympathetic to our cause," was all Magda would say.

"I'm sure you have," replied Deanna sarcastically. "And I have no doubt they are trustworthy beyond reproach."

The woman looked at her suspiciously.

"Why do you say that?" she asked. Deanna sensed uncertainty for the first time from her captor, as though her desperate, off-handed remarked had touched a nerve.

"No reason in particular—except I've never met a Romulan you could trust. They have motives that are entirely their own. And if they're supporting you, you can bet that they have their own agenda which you probably know nothing about."

The woman paced back and forth. Deanna realized that, however she had done it, she had succeeded in unsettling her tormentor. She didn't care how or why…anything to give the _Enterprise_ more time. She cast about for some other words which might further divert Magda's attention.

Before she could formulate a thought, however, an exclamation rose from the man who was posted at the communications post.

"The Romulan's have attacked the Federation ship!"

Magda froze.

"What? Impossible!" she replied, in disbelief. The man rechecked his monitor and looked up at her, shaking his head.

"It's confirmed. The _Enterprise_ is under attack. The plan has been activated."

Magda glared at Deanna, as if somehow she were responsible for this latest news, and then strode over to the communications array to verify the information for herself.

"Get me Commander Sela immediately!"

Deanna's stomach knotted at the sound of Sela's name. Suddenly everything made sense. Beverly _had_ been right after all. Ultimately it was about revenge—revenge upon the _Enterprise_ and her crew. A wave of nausea swept over Deanna as she wondered who was in greater peril: herself or her family.

Moments later, she heard the Romulan's voice even though she couldn't see the monitor. Sela sounded irritated and belligerent.

"What is it, Magda? I'm rather busy at the moment."

Magda glowered at the screen.

"Why are you attacking the _Enterprise_? We do not yet have the chalice! I need more time!"

Even though Deanna had no visual, she could picture Sela's face. It was a face that had once belonged to a friend. She knew, however, that the woman on the screen was no friend to her—or to anyone.

"I'm tired of waiting for you, Magda. You and your people have been completely incompetent—you couldn't even find a stupid clay pot! I've waited too long for this moment and I'm not about to let it slip away from me!"

In the background Deanna could hear what sounded like return fire from the _Enterprise_ echoing through Sela's ship. At least they hadn't been caught completely off-guard.

"Without the chalice we will be unable to complete the code!" Magda shrieked. "And we will not detonate the weapons—that was part of your plan too!"

"Trust me, Magda. By the time this is over with, the Federation and the Romulan Empire will be at each other's throats—and I'll have you to thank for it…posthumously, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ship to blow up."

The image must have gone blank because Magda just stood there a moment, shaking with rage. Grabbing a stray piece of equipment that lay on the console, she hurled it angrily across the room where its clatter echoed shatteringly off the high ceiling.

Deanna took this moment to glance around the room. Except for two guards by the hallway and man at the communications array, Deanna and Magda were alone. She did not see Aleena anywhere, nor Mr. Homn.

The woman turned to her, suddenly.

"I will not allow the chalice to be destroyed!" she said sharply. She pointed at the man at communications. "Get me Lwaxana Rixx—now! We will show her what pain can do."

Magda walked a few feet away and seemed to concentrate. Taking a deep breath she turned and focused her eyes on Deanna. As much as she wanted to, Deanna could not make herself look away. Somehow the woman had locked their gazes and Deanna could not break free.

It started as a low buzzing noise. Deanna was hardly aware of it at first. It was like a small insect in the room. Then the buzzing grew louder, more intense. It took on a single pitch, increasing in volume and swelling in depth. Try as she might, Deanna could not block it out. It filled her head, it occluded every other sound, it vibrated within her until her very teeth rattled. She put her hands over her ears, trying to make it stop, but it only increased in intensity, rising and falling in regular rhythms, like a million insects buzzing inside her head.

She tried to shout at the woman, pleading with her to make it stop, but she could not hear her own voice. Deanna had no idea if she had actually made any sound or had merely hoped she had. The rhythmic cadence of the buzz persisted, louder, stronger. Finally she managed to tear her eyes away from her tormentor, squeezing them shut, willing the noise to stop, but it did not. Deanna doubled over in her chair, wrapping her arms about her head in a vain effort to block out the sound. It was futile.

From somewhere deep within her consciousness, Deanna became aware of a sort of warmth. It wasn't a physical sensation, but she knew, nevertheless, that it felt warm. As it grew it generated something like a light. It spread throughout her, warming her as the sun might on a cold day—yet it was not quite a light either. She was frightened at first—was this some new torment Magda was inserting into her mind? But then Deanna realized that where the light and the warmth seemed to be, the intensity of the never-ending sound seemed to lessen. Tentatively she reached out toward the light with her mind and felt something familiar in it. She embraced the small light and as she did so, the buzzing in her head lessened even more. As she held onto the warmth and let it penetrate her mind, she could feel it growing. The more it grew, the more it drove away the horrible ceaseless noise.

There was a jarring sensation, and for a moment the light flickered and the warmth faltered—like a cloud passing over the sun. Desperately Deanna reached out for it even as the buzzing assailed her again. When she touched its faint glow with her weakening mind, she felt a small surge from it as it began, again, to grow in intensity. This time she recognized it as it reached out to embrace her in a rush of joy and love. It was Kestra.

Somewhere in her mind she could feel the malevolence of Magda, attempting once more to force the brain-deadening noise back at her. She clung desperately to what Kestra was giving her, grateful for the anchor yet desperate to shield her infant daughter's mind from Magda's torment. Interposing herself between the two, Deanna felt the strength of her mind begin to give way. Magda was simply too powerful.

Suddenly, almost as quickly as it had begun, the sound ceased. Deanna fell on the floor, gasping. Her head ached monstrously and the room spun. She tried to find Kestra in her mind but the light and the warmth were gone. She could hear noises—scuffling, and she raised herself up on her elbow to try to make sense of it all.

Magda lay sprawled on the floor, just beginning to make a feeble effort at pulling herself up. The person who had knocked her there lay next to her. It was Aleena. Deanna looked around and saw the two guards at the door unconscious on the floor and Mr. Homn with a disruptor trained on the lone remaining _jzatar_ at the communications array. Out of the corner of her eye, Deanna saw Magda reach for her disruptor and aim it at Aleena's prone form. Deanna cried out in horror as her finger wrapped itself around the trigger.

"I wouldn't do that," warned a male voice from behind Deanna. Magda froze at some sight over Deanna's shoulder, the choice between revenge and surrender battling within her. As Deanna held her breath, Magda made up her mind. She took aim again at Aleena.

A burst of phaser fire shot from over Deanna's head, sending Magda reeling backwards. Deanna recognized the high stun setting as the woman slumped to the floor. Finally turning around, Deanna nearly wept at the sight of a half dozen yellow-shirted security officers from the _Enterprise_. The one who fired helped her to her feet.

"Counselor Troi," he asked. "Are you all right?"

As wobbly as she felt, Deanna managed to remain standing.

"Not entirely, Lieutenant," she whispered, her head still throbbing. "But I will be."

"The _Enterprise_'s shields are down, Commander," reported a subaltern from the comm. "The harmonic shield disruptor has worked."

Sela squirmed with anticipation in her seat, finally jumping to her feet, barely able to contain her excitement. She hadn't seemed the least bit fazed by the raging call from the jzatar leader Magda, Picard noted.

"Excellent," she purred. "Well done, Auntie Ishara! Target their main engines and fire!"

Realizing his chance was now, Picard dove toward the weapons officer, grabbing the man's arm just as he was locking in the target coordinates. His fist met the man's jaw with a satisfying crunch but he fell back with dismay as he heard the familiar whine of phaser banks firing their long-range weapons.

Picard's attack did not last long. One of the Romulan guards was on him in an instant, the butt of his disruptor rifle crashing into the base of Picard's skull. His eyes swam with the pain for a moment as he was hauled to his feet, just as a swift punch left him doubled over in agony.

"We were unable to maintain the lock, Commander," reported the weapons officer apologetically through his swollen lips. "There was minor damage to their port nacelle, and that is all."

Sela had unholstered her disruptor and now aimed it at Picard, point blank range.

"I warned you…" she hissed at him. "I'll kill you now, if I have to."

Picard did his best not to show her any of his fear. Swallowing his apprehension he let his eyes go cold and meet her look for look.

"Then do it," he challenged her, fiercely.

For a moment it seemed as if she would. Picard held his breath. Finally, she spit out a Romulan curse and holstered her weapon.

"Move us into position for the kill," she ordered her helm.

Picard felt the impulse engines of the warbird engage as it glided closer and closer to his ship. He felt the rage of helplessness as he watched the magnificent sovereign-class ship grow larger on the view screen. Flanked as he now was by two large Romulan guards, he knew that if he tried again to sabotage the attack, he would certainly be dead. At the very least he had to attempt to destroy the remote detonator Sela wore around her neck. If he could not save the _Enterprise_, he could at least save Betazed from Sela's deadly Theleron weapon.

"Moving into posit…." The subaltern stopped in mid-sentence. A look of puzzlement on his face.

"What is it?" demanded Sela, practically over his shoulder.

"Commander…I don't know how, but now our shields are gone!"

"What?" screamed Sela, pushing the unfortunate officer out of the way and taking over the controls herself. When her efforts seemed to have no effect she swore and turned to Picard.

"What have you done?" she demanded. "I swore I'd kill you…" she began. But her tactical officer interrupted her.

"Commander…the _Enterprise_ is firing!"

"Fire, Mr. Worf. Disable all primary weapon systems and shield generators." Data's even voice belied the relief that had spread across the bridge when they'd realized the warbird's shields were no longer operational.

"Aye, Sir," said Worf with great satisfaction. They watched as the precision strikes sent bits of the Romulan ship drifting into space. "The Romulan weapons are off-line."

Will, the relief upon hearing the report from the security teams that Deanna was safe, allowed himself a slight smile.

"Now we're getting somewhere," he muttered.

Sparks flew across the back panels of the Romulan bridge as systems overheated and burned. The guards who had been flanking Picard had been thrown to the ground. Jean Luc had only managed to stay on his feet by grabbing onto a nearby chair and holding on for dear life. As another salvo from the _Enterprise_ shook the ship, he couldn't help but consider the irony that he might indeed end up dead after all, killed by his own ship. Surely by now Lwaxana would have the sense to tell them he was still alive—assuming Lwaxana herself was still alive. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He dove for one of the guards disruptors but received a swift kick in the ribs for his effort. Flying back he struck his head against something hard, and for a moment the bridge faded from view. All that kept him from slipping into unconsciousness was the shrill voice of Sela, cursing above the confusion all around her.

"The traitor!" she shrieked, throwing bits of her broken bridge toward the view screen. The screen was protected by a force field however, and only shivered upon contact with Sela's projectile. "She's betrayed me!"

Picard shook his head to clear his vision and struggled to his feet. Pain jabbed him when he breathed and he figured there were at least a couple of broken ribs that would need knitting. That assumed he would get out of this alive.

Sela whirled on him as he stood.

"I may not get the satisfaction of seeing you watch your beloved ship destroyed," she ranted. "But at least I'll die knowing the horror your crew will feel when they learn they are responsible for your death!"

Picard managed to find an irritating smile to put on his face, despite the circumstances.

"You forget, Sela. They already think I'm dead. They'll have no way of knowing I was destroyed with your ship. It will all have been for naught."

Sela roared in frustration and hurled another chunk of her broken ship at Picard. In spite of his injuries, he ducked, just as another blast from the _Enterprise_ sent the bridge into darkness.

"We have attempted to hail the Romulan ship, Sir, but they are not responding. Our sensors indicate that we have done considerable damage to the ship, but it is still operational. It's impulse engines remain on-line," Worf announced from tactical.

From his position in the center seat, Data studied the warbird. It no longer appeared a threat, especially now that the _Enterprise_ had gotten its shields back up. He turned to Captain Riker.

"Although I am in command of the _Enterprise_, Captain, you remain in command of this mission. I believe the disposition of the Romulan ship falls under your jurisdiction. What would you have me do?" he asked.

Riker considered the options. Part of him wanted to blast the damned thing out of the sky. They were collaborators with the _jzatar_ to commit genocide on Betazed; they'd attacked and nearly destroyed the _Enterprise_. They were responsible for the death of Captain Picard. Hell, they'd probably even helped plan the attack on the _Titan_. He could think of no good reason not to tell Worf to fire all quantum torpedoes—except one: it was not what Jean Luc Picard would have done.

"William," Lwaxana' voice was quietly frantic. He looked down at her, still seated in the first officer's chair. "You can't destroy that ship…Jean Luc is on it."

Riker felt his jaw drop.

"What?!" he exclaimed. Lwaxana looked around apologetically.

"It's a long story—but as he was being transported by the Romulans he asked me to let you all think he had been killed. He had some sort of plan…I didn't understand it all, it was so quick…but you all had to think it was dead in order for it to work. But I tell you now…he is alive and he is on that ship."

Will's eyes met Beverly's and saw desperate hope in them.

"Mr. Worf—scan the Romulan ship for Captain Picard," came Data's voice urgently.

"I have him, Sir!" replied Worf a few seconds later. "He is on the bridge. The Romulan vessel is hailing us."

"On screen," requested Data.

The stars disappeared to be replaced by a scene of chaos. Dimly lit and smoke-filled, the Romulan bridge seemed to have taken heavy damage. Struggling up from an off-kilter commander's seat, Sela—her once shiny metallic uniform sooty and ragged, a large medallion hanging crookedly from her neck—glowered at the _Enterprise_.

"Why have you stopped, you fools?" she demanded. "Finish us off!"

Data remained in his seat and calmly replied, "We know you are holding Captain Picard. Return him to us and we will discuss the terms of your surrender."

Sela laughed. They could see a trickle of green blood on one side of her forehead.

"I never surrender, android. You'll have to destroy us."

Data's response was succinct.

"I think not," was all he said.

Sela glared at him.

"Fine! If he can't watch me destroy all of you, then I can at least make you all watch while I destroy him.!"

She reached over and dragged Picard into range of the viewer. They could see his hands were bound. He, likewise, appeared to have a head injury. Out of the corner of his eye Will saw Beverly take an instinctive step forward. She stopped though, as Sela raised a disruptor and held it to Jean Luc's temple.

"Mr. Worf…" began Riker, in a low voice.

"We have his coordinates, Captain, but we must lower the…"

Worf did not finish. On the view screen Jean Luc began to sparkle in a transporter beam. They watched as he reached out and yanked the medallion from Sela's neck as he vanished from her grip. Sela screamed in sheer rage.

"Mr. Worf?" shouted Riker, whirling on the Klingon. Worf was as confused as he.

"No, Sir!" he exclaimed. "We did not transport—shields are still up!"

Will turned back to the view screen which had reverted to the sight of the warbird hanging with them nose to nose.

"Then what the hell…?"

"We are being hailed, Sir. It is one of the Betazed Fliers," reported Worf suddenly.

Data requested it on the main viewer. Another familiar face appeared.

"Hello, _Enterprise_. This is Ishara Yar—Captain Picard is aboard my ship. Request permission to dock."

Worf growled.

"It is a trick," he insisted. A second later, however, Picard's face appeared in the small area behind Ishara.

"No, Mr. Worf, it is not. I will explain when I return."

Riker saw the captain's eyes search for Beverly who had moved up to the viewing range on the bridge. They went warm when they found her.

"Doctor," he said haltingly. "It's good to see you again."

Beverly smiled. Will could see the tears in her eyes.

"You too, Captain," she replied. "Hurry home."


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"You can have your people stand down, Mr. Worf. I assure you, I am perfectly safe." Picard smiled broadly as he swung himself out of the hatch of the Betazed Defense Force flier. Worf, still not looking entirely convinced, signaled his people to lower their weapons. Dropping to the ground beside him, Ishara Yar stepped back and permitted the welcoming committee to greet their captain.

Will stepped up first and grabbed Picard's hand. His former first officer looked like hell, he thought, but there was a happiness about him that made Jean Luc feel relieved. If things had gone badly, Will would not be so exuberant.

"Welcome home, Captain," Will said.

Jean Luc smiled at him gratefully.

"Thank you, Will. It's good to be here." He looked at the counselor. "Deanna—are you all right?"

Her dark eyes were moist as she quickly embraced him.

"Just fine, Captain. We're all fine, now"

Picard looked over to his First Officer, who stood serenely off to the side.

"Commander Data—what is our status?"

"Sir, the Betazed authorities have taken the leaders of the _Jzatar_ into custody. However the Romulan warbird did manage to get its engines back on-line and has gone to warp. Do you wish to pursue her, sir?"

Picard looked at the only person in the shuttle bay who had not yet spoken. She didn't need to. Her thoughts were as clear to him as if their telepathic link had been reinstated.

"No, Mr. Data. Let her go. We have other matters to attend to. Mr. Worf, would you be so kind as to show Colonel Yar to her quarters? We'll hold a debriefing at 1430 hours." He looked at them all, a slight smile on his face. He was, indeed, home. His eyes rested on Beverly again, still silent, still in the background.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me," he said, clearing his throat. "I believe I need to see a doctor."

He saw Will and Deanna exchange knowing smiles and follow the others out of the shuttle bay. When the door slid shut, Jean Luc and Beverly were alone.

"Are you all right?" she asked finally, opening her tricorder and scanning him as he walked toward her.

"I'm pleased to say that reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," he quipped.

She did not smile.

"You have two broken ribs and some contusions…."

He reached out and closed the tricorder in her hand.

"Beverly…I'm sorry—if there'd been any other way…."

She looked at him and he could see everything she'd been through in the last three days glistening from behind her blue eyes.

"You put me through hell, Jean Luc," she said in a strangely quiet voice. He nodded.

"I know…" But he got no further. She was in his arms and he was kissing her.

"I thought I'd lost you," she managed finally, her hands to his face as though she needed to assure herself that he was really there.

"I'm not that easy to get rid of," he told her. But she would take none of his light banter.

"You have no idea what it was like…"

"I knew I'd hurt you—it nearly killed me to think of what you were going through. I even had the strangest dream where I tried to comfort you—"

"Take heart," Beverly said suddenly.

Picard looked at her oddly.

"What did you say?"

"It's what you said…in my dream. You touched me and said…actually, thought…'Take heart'."

Picard paled slightly.

"You tried to touch me…" he began.

"But then I woke up…" she concluded. He nodded

"Then I woke up," he repeated.

Beverly stepped away from him as though he were a ghost.

"Coincidence?" asked Jean Luc, skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

Beverly shook her head.

"Lwaxana tried to tell me…she said the human brain was capable of more than we realize—that once two people have been linked telepathically that link is rarely completely severed. That's why she asked me…." Beverly broke off.

Jean Luc was curious.

"Asked you what?"

Beverly searched his eyes.

"She asked if I'd felt you…die"

Jean Luc thought on this for a moment.

"She must have suspected that we still had some type of telepathic connection…."

"But the psi-wave transmitters were removed…" Beverly reminded him, her hand instinctively going to the back of her neck as if somehow, by magic, they had reappeared.

"Still," he replied. "Haven't you felt—over the years—there was something more there between us? When I arrived just now and Data asked about pursuing Sela—I could hear your thoughts as plainly as if you'd said them aloud."

"I was thinking that we should…"

"…leave her the hell alone. Yes, I know."

Beverly's eyes widened.

"Jean Luc…why didn't we discover this before?" she asked, shakily. He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his embrace.

"I don't know…."

"Well, it's perfectly obvious," Lwaxana told them later in the turbo lift as they made their way to the debriefing. "I mean, not to get too personal but…it's the physical relationship. Joining bodies. Joining minds. It's part of the same thing. Once the two of you became…well, it was like throwing a switch. Only don't expect it to be a daily sort of thing…the telepathy, I mean," she winked. "No—for humans, it's sort of hit and miss. Stress frequently activates it—which can be useful, I guess; but don't worry. You won't be having to flit around with each other's little stray thought running through your heads. But make the most of it when it comes—for terrans like you, it is a rare gift."

Jean Luc saw Beverly turn several shades of red during Lwaxana's explanation. He could feel his own face burning as well. There were just some things about the Ambassador that would never change, and her candor was certainly one of them.

They had recovered by the time they reached the conference room. Picard was welcomed warmly by Geordi and Wesley and took his place at the head of the table. It was a welcome sight to see all the familiar faces once again. Even Ishara seemed already to fit in. Perhaps, he thought, it was the shadow of her sister's smile.

Picard began by explaining what had happened when he had felt the Romulan transporter grab him and his spontaneous decision to let his crew think him dead.

"You needed to focus on the _jzatar_," he told them. "And I needed to root out who was behind them, and why. There seemed to be a tactical advantage in being presumed dead, and I knew you would all be professional enough to carry on without me—I guess I just never figured you'd try to kill me in the process."

"Your message was very vague, Jean Luc," Lwaxana scolded him. "I hadn't a clue as to what you thought you were doing."

Picard smiled at her enigmatically, glad that no one had figured out he hadn't had a clue either. Only Beverly's sly look told him she knew his secret—and wasn't likely to let him forget it.

Will then brought him up to speed on their deception to lure the _jzatar_ back out into the open. Between the _Enterprise_'s security teams and the Betazed authorities, they had contained Magda and most of the members of the _jzatar_. The surviving Daughters of the four Houses of Betazed had been released and returned home. Aleena, however, remained in custody, although Deanna said she hoped to speak to the authorities on her behalf.

"She saved my life," she explained. "It took a great deal of courage for her to defy Magda. It was an incredible sacrifice for her. The _jzatar_ had promised her the very thing she had desired her entire life. I owe her at least for that. Who knows," said Deanna, with a glance at her mother. "Perhaps some day she will be the Daughter of the Fifth House."

Picard caught the exchange and couldn't help but think that Deanna and Lwaxana had a great deal yet to discuss.

The loose end that everyone was waiting for, however, was Ishara Yar. Even Picard, who had learned of her identity only after she had rescued him from the bridge of the warbird, was curious as to her role in all of this. Showered and in a clean, simple black uniform, Ishara sat amazingly calm at one end of the table, waiting her turn. They all looked at her, now, expectantly.

"Not everything I told you in the Badlands was a lie, Captain," she began. "I did escape Turkana IV like I said, and I made my way to Earth the best way I could. And when I got there, they did indeed have a file on me and refused to allow me to apply for Starfleet Academy." She took a deep breath.

"Instead," she continued. "They recruited me for Starfleet Special Ops. I guess they figured with my background I would make a better spy than I would an engineer." She grinned sheepishly at Geordi.

"After a couple of years of training, I ended up out in the field. There's not a lot I can share with you about that, but part of my cover was running illegal and hard to get technology through the Bazaar in the Badlands. It gave me access to a lot of people folks like you don't run into in the course of your day to day assignments."

"I bet," commented Riker wryly. Ishara smiled.

"When you two showed up looking for the harmonic shield disruptor, I knew you'd stepped into the middle of one of our biggest operations. Sela and the _jzatar_ had linked up nearly three years ago, not long after the end of the Dominion War. She'd taken off with one of the Romulan warbirds—deserted, with her whole crew. They hid out in the Badlands for nearly two years. I think it affected her—mentally, that is. I used to hear of people coming to the Bazaar talk about this crazy Romulan commander. When she finally showed up, I saw what they meant. She was obsessed with the _Enterprise_ and the people on it. She wanted all of you dead, and by the most painful means possible." Ishara paused and sipped some water that was in a glass in front of her.

"Sela and the _jzatar_ had pretty much their whole plan worked out by the time they came to me. The _jzatar_ were on a quest to remake Betazed; they didn't give a damn about anything else. Sela, of course, had other plans: she not only wanted to take out the _Enterprise_ but permanently sever any relationship between the Federation and Romulus as well. She nearly wept when she learned of Shinzon and how his attempt had failed. But it spurred her on to plan wilder and wilder things. Before I knew it, she wanted to get her hands on the theleron radiation technology."

"You didn't broker that for her, did you?" asked Will, aghast. Ishara looked sheepish.

"I'm the Ice Princess, Captain. Procurer of the Unprocurable." She fiddled with her water glass. "Yeah," she continued after a moment. "I got it for her—but…."

She held up her hand to deflect the verbal chastisement she knew Riker was about to hurl at her.

"Wait—before you get all bent out of shape, it was a fake—not unlike your bogus chalice, Mrs. Troi," she added with a smile. A moment later, though, her face was all business once again.

"Of course I couldn't sell them a functioning one. It would have been suicide for the entire quadrant. The S.C.E. had rigged up this fake one—it hummed and pulsed—even emitted a complex holographic light helix nearly identical to the one Shinzon had. It would have fooled most people, but it was absolutely harmless. Betazed was never in danger—from theleron radiation, at least.

"Before Sela even approached me, somehow she had already discovered our rather unusual relationship to each other. She wanted to use that to assure my assistance with her plan. Of course, once I learned what she was up to, I had intended to insert myself into the operation anyway. Sela has always been on Starfleet's watch list, and the Betazoids, well, with the right resources it was obvious they were a pretty big threat as well. So I played into her perception of me as the disenfranchised younger sister and she thought I was genuine.

"Sela brought Magda and some of her people to the Badlands to work out the final deal. That was where things started to get dicey. Sela had explained to me that these jzatar were extraordinary telepaths. I couldn't risk letting them read my thoughts, or else the whole deal would have been blown."

"I thought you were trained in mental shielding techniques to prevent something like that from happening?" asked Deanna, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Oh we are," Ishara told her. "But it's not infallible. And to be honest…I've never been very good at it. That's why I have Drang—my Ferengi assistant. Anytime I've had to deal with telepaths, I use him. Ferengi are impervious to telepathic connections. He's like a mental stone wall."

"So you used him to broker the deal with Sela and Magda?" queried Picard, recalling the Ferengi's go-between role between the Ice Princess and his Away Team. Ishara nodded.

"I had some specifics I wanted to add to the deal—like getting a hold of a Betazoid Defense Flier. I had to convince them that using that to strip the _Enterprise's_ shields was a better strategy than bringing in the _jzatar_ ship under cloak. It was the only way I could ensure I would be the one controlling the harmonic shield disruptor at the critical time. I had to leave it to Drang to present my case and work it all out. Maybe if I had been there myself I would have picked up on Sela's intentions earlier. Drang, sometimes, misses out on some of the more subtle aspects of a deal. But then, he just thinks I'm the Ice Princess. He has no idea of my whole other life."

"What do you mean by 'Sela's intentions'?" Beverly asked. "I thought her intentions seemed pretty clear."

"Sela had her own agenda, Doctor. Frankly, she didn't give a damn about the _jzatar_ and their quest for a perfect Betazed. And she wasn't leaving anything to chance. I later learned that she had gone behind my back to one of my competitors in the Bazaar and procured a remote detonator for the theleron weapons. If the _jzatar_ didn't set them off, she would."

"Jazel Kay," supplied Picard. Ishara raised her eyebrows.

"Very good, Captain. Yes. Kay's specialty is in remote control technology. I've seen her get some of the devices down to the size of a small ring.. Most, though, are in the form of pendants like this." She passed around the medallion that Picard had fought to remove from Sela before his beam out. "They're the sort of thing that look intriguing, but that no one would ever suspect are capable of setting off an explosion a half a parsec away."

"I wondered why her shop looked so sparse," recalled Riker, turning over the device and studying it before handing it off to Worf. "All her work is custom made."

"She commands a high price for it too," Ishara told him. "There aren't many who can match her talent. You did the black market a big favor by not vaporizing her when you escaped."

"Were you responsible for her attack on us—with the Drell?" Riker asked.

"No," Ishara replied, frowning. "I only heard about it later. Their orders must have come from Sela herself. My guess is, she was worried someone might learn about her deal with Kay and wanted to make sure no one else knew about the remote control device. Sela would have been furious if you had been killed in the Bazaar and she was denied the satisfaction of destroying you herself."

"Glad we could oblige," muttered Riker sarcastically.

"Ishara, however, is the one who supplied us with the technical readouts on the cloaking device and the harmonic shield disruptor, as well as the cryptic message about revenge," Picard pointed out.

"It was Doctor Crusher who correctly postulated that revenge might be the motive driving the Romulans who were funding the jzatar," Data added. "Unfortunately we were unable to give that matter further attention because of the swiftly unfolding events on the planet."

"That's precisely where Sela wanted your attention focused, Mr. Data," replied Ishara. "She was counting on your preoccupation with the jzatar to allow me to strip your shields from the Betazed Flier and let her come in and beam Captain Picard off the ship. She was then going to make him watch while she destroyed the Enterprise. After that, if the jzatar hadn't been able to detonate the theleron weapons, she would have done it from space."

"Wait—how did the jzatar think they were going to survive the theleron radiation if they intended to be on the planet when the weapons were set off?" wondered Deanna.

"I think I know the answer to that, Counselor," responded Geordi. "When we were scanning for your signal on Betazed and then for the scatter field, we detected several structures composed of triadium. I'll bet they were bunkers of some kind, where the jzatar members were going to hid out until it was safe."

"If you'll study the shipment manifest I provided you in the isolinear chip," explained Ishara. "You'll find that the triadium quantities are more than enough to replate Sela's and the jzatar's ships. The rest was for the bunkers."

"What I want to know is, why did you go ahead and drain the _Enterprise_'s shields?" Will asked pointedly. "A straight shot from that Warbird and we would have been space dust."

"After Sela acquired Captain Picard ahead of schedule, I had to modify my plans. Originally I was simply going to strip Sela of her shields and put an end to this. The Enterprise would have captured the jzatar and Sela's ship would have been disabled. It was fairly straight-forward. The trouble was, Sela moved up the timetable. Once she had the captain she really wasn't interested in much else. Finally she grew impatient with Magda and decided that the jzatar and their plans just weren't worth it."

"Magda was furious that the Romulan ship was firing on the Enterprise while my mother was still aboard," confirmed Deanna. "She realized then she'd been betrayed."

"Sela held all the cards, including the trump—the remote detonator," Ishara agreed. "Of course it wouldn't detonate anything, but I was the only one who knew that. It was very noble of you, Captain, to wrest it away from Sela at the last moment, even though it was harmless."

She returned to Riker's question. "I stripped the Enterprise's shields, Captain, because I was trying to save as many lives as possible. If the warbird's shields had gone down first, you probably would have destroyed it—and Captain Picard. I was also aware that your rescue of Counselor Troi and the capture of the jzatar had been aborted by Sela's early appearance. You had to have your shields down in order to beam down your security forces. Draining your shields was a calculated risk, I know, but it seemed like the best course of action at the time."

Picard could tell Will wasn't entirely satisfied with Ishara's answer. He could see the fatigue and the effect of the strain of the past weeks clearly on the younger man's face. He had been doing battle on two fronts, Picard knew: personally and professionally. This time, at least, he had come out the winner on both ends. Perhaps now Will and Deanna could begin to put this behind them and move on. Glancing at Beverly, he thought perhaps they all could.

"If you knew all along what Sela was going to do, why didn't you just arrest her before any of this happened?" asked Geordi pragmatically. Ishara's reply was equally as pragmatic.

"First of all, I didn't have all the information about what Sela was planning. Despite our relationship, she still didn't trust me completely. I knew parts of the plan, but not all of it. The attack on the Titan, for example, was a complete surprise. I'm sorry, Captain," Ishara added sympathetically to Riker.

"I'm also guessing there's a big difference between conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder, am I right?" interjected Picard from the head of the table. Ishara turned to him.

"Precisely. Had we taken Sela down earlier, at best we could have gotten her for was trafficking in illegal technology. Don't forget, the Romulans are probably looking for her too. Under the new treaty with the Star Empire, she would have been extradited back to Romulus. With attempted murder and genocide charges against her, however, the Federation gets to keep her."

"Except we don't have her," pointed out Geordi. The table was momentarily quiet. In spite of all their efforts, Picard thought, they had not secured their quarry. In a way he felt responsible. After all, he had given the order to let her go. Ishara shrugged wearily.

"Given the bigger picture, Commander, that's probably a minor point at the moment. The charges remain and she'll surface eventually."

"It would have helped if we'd known about your involvement earlier," Riker pointed out, a little testily. "A little coordination could have made a difference between success and the three days of hell we've all been through."

"I know," Ishara agreed, taking his anger in stride. "Unfortunately, that's the nature of the work I do, Captain. Not even your admirals knew about this operation. It would have been best if I hadn't even had to reveal my identity to you, but in this case, I thought it was warranted. Sela did have every intention of killing you, Captain," she told Picard. He nodded solemnly.

"A fact of which I am too well aware," he told her. He allowed himself a slight smile. "When you first beamed me aboard your ship, for a moment I thought I'd won you over with my talk of honor and responsibility," he confessed. Ishara gave a quick chuckle.

"It was an impressive speech, Captain. In fact, I was worried that Sela would think you had reformed me. She had your room bugged quite extensively. I don't think you found half the listening devices." Now that the debriefing was nearly completed, the mood in the room seemed to be lightening.

"Colonel Yar," mused Riker, leaning back in his chair. Picard was relieved to see a glimmer of the Will Riker he knew. There was a slight smile playing at the corner of the younger man's lips.

"Didn't think I had it in me, did you, Captain?" Ishara replied coyly. Riker studied her before replying.

"A dozen years ago, I'd have said no. But I think you proved me wrong. Your sister would have been proud of you."

"You honor her memory," added Worf. Ishara looked at the Klingon soberly.

"I had a chance to read Tasha's personal logs, once I joined Special Ops. She held you in very high regard, Mr. Worf. I will take your words as high praise."

Ishara looked around the table at each person.

"Ever since I left Turkana IV I felt I owed you all a debt of gratitude," she confessed. "I had betrayed you when you had offered me nothing but kindness. When I joined Special Ops, I felt as if I was paying off that debt in an indirect way. Now I'm glad I was able to repay you all directly. I figure, it was the least I could do."

"I have a question," asked Wesley when the murmur of the room had quieted again. "Where is the real Chalice of Rixx?"

All eyes turned expectantly toward Lwaxana. She merely shrugged and smiled at all of them. "I'm afraid, young man, that's a mystery that will remained unsolved—at least for a while."

"Mother—aren't you ever going to tell us where it is?" asked Deanna, as they made their way back to their quarters.

Lwaxana linked her arm with her daughter's and said breezily, "I'll leave it to you in my will, Deanna."

Deanna shook her head, unloosed her arm and stepped into the turbo lift, obviously exasperated. As Beverly and Lwaxana followed, Lwaxana leaned over to the doctor and whispered, "Just remember, Dear. The next time you feel like throwing some crockery, be sure to select something a little less valuable."

Several seconds later, the turbo lift door slid open, and without a look back, Lwaxana strode on out. As the lift carried the two remaining women to their appropriate decks, it hit Beverly. Surely Lwaxana hadn't meant…. Beverly's mouth nearly hung open as she realized exactly what had just transpired. She almost wanted to laugh out loud.

Later, when Jean Luc had joined her, she told him.

"You're kidding," he said in disbelief.

"I'm telling you, Jean Luc. She gave it to you. What better place to hide it than on a starship."

Picard went over to the display shelves and picked up the unattractive piece Lwaxana had given him for his part in Will and Deanna's wedding. Now that he was familiar with the copy of the chalice, he could see that the figure of the fat, squat man could indeed house within it something of that size and shape. He lifted it for Beverly to see.

"And to think, I damned near got rid of it because it was so ugly," he told her. She laughed, but decided she would not share how closely she herself had come to discovering the statue's secret.

Jean Luc set the piece gingerly back on the shelf and turned to her. There was a gleam in his eye—a look.

"Beverly…" he started to say, coming toward her. She found herself backing away. There was only confusion on her husband's face as he paused.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Beverly found that she was unable to speak. Now that it was all over, now that he was somehow, miraculously alive, all her doubts and fears rushed back upon her like a tidal wave. She had now been through this horrible experience twice. Could she risk putting herself through it another time? It might never happen again, she realized. Or it could happen tomorrow. He might not return from the next away mission. Or the one after that. Or, it might be she who did not return. She could only imagine the toll her death, under his command, might take on him. The decision to marry, which had seemed so right just a few short weeks ago, now seemed entirely and completely wrong.

As her thoughts whirled in her head, she saw his confusion give way to understanding. Beverly felt a jolting flash of pain from him, but he pushed it away quickly, a curtain of detachment falling between them. At that moment she felt more alone than she had when she thought him to be dead.

"Jean Luc—don't," she pleaded. The hurt in his eyes and the absence of him from her mind brought tears to her eyes.

He cleared his throat and studied his hands.

"I'm sure once we return to Starbase 209 you'll be able to get a shuttle back to Earth," he said quietly. Beverly felt her chest constrict. He was letting her go.

"I think it's probably for the best," she managed, wiping her eyes.

"Yes…."

She couldn't help it. A sob shook her entire body, causing Jean Luc to look up at her. Suddenly, he was there again.

_Beverly—don't be afraid._ The voice in her head was as clear as if he'd spoken the words aloud.

_Aren't you?_ she thought back at him, her emotions still roiling

_Yes,_ he admitted, stepping closer to her. _But I won't let that fear ruin our lives._

He took another step closer and she had not choice but to meet his gaze.

_Do you love me?_ he asked her. She didn't even have to formulate a reply to that. Her feelings leapt from her, raw and unformed. She saw him smile as he reached out and took her hand. At his touch, images leapt into her mind: his anguish at having deceived her; his fear for her safety and that of the _Enterprise_; rage; desire; hope. She saw images of a red-haired child playing against the background of a star field at warp; herself captaining a ship; a glowing hearth in a French chateau; a sunrise on a planet circled by twin moons. All he had been and all he hoped to be, he gave to her, and Beverly found herself in his arms, holding on as if no power in the universe could ever separate them again.

Except one.

Overhead the intercom chirped.

"Riker to Captain Picard."

Beverly leaned back, her arms still around her husband and saw exasperation written all over his face.

"Picard here," he said wearily, his eyes locked on hers.

"Sorry to interrupt, Sir," Will said, sounding suddenly uncomfortable. Beverly thought she could hear Deanna's scolding voice in the background. "But I believe we have a reception to conclude. Deanna and I were wondering if you could join us on the holodeck…later."

Jean Luc looked expectantly at Beverly. He was still leaving the decision to her. Visions of an earthbound shuttle taking her away from the _Enterprise_ faded from her mind. A very different image took its place. Picard grinned.

"We'd be delighted, Will. Just make it…_much_ later. Picard out."

_Still afraid?_ his thoughts asked her, his eyes never leaving hers. Beverly shook her head.

"Not as long as you keep finding your way back home," she told him. He pulled her closer until their lips nearly touched

"As long as you'll be there," he whispered. "Count on it."


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue

The laughter floating from the door of the Happy Prophet echoed in the artificial night of the Bazaar. She could see the warm glow of the interior lights, hear the faint jangle of coins at the gambling tables, feel the pulse of the rhythmic music that underscored the activities of the many obviously satisfied patrons who were enjoying the bar. Drang, she concluded, must be in Ferengi heaven. She had caught just a glimpse of him through the doorway; he looked prosperous, convivial—happy. Obviously the news of her death had not had as great an impact on him emotionally as she had expected it too, and she found herself wondering if she had actually been conned herself by his seeming adoration of her for all those years. Or maybe it was just one of the Rules of Acquisition, she thought—the pain of loss can be quickly compensated for by the reading of the will—or some such thing. She allowed it to bother her for only a few seconds before shrugging it off. It was, after all, time to move on.

The Ice Princess was dead. Years of work, years of establishing her reputation, her connections, her network, gone in a flash. She had known it would happen the moment she had decided to reveal herself to Picard. But, she concluded, it had been worth it. She hated debts of any kind. She wanted to be beholden to no one. And despite her efforts to convince herself otherwise, she had, for all these years, felt herself beholden to the _Enterprise_ crew. No matter how many tales she could weave, the one that began when they had accepted her and she had betrayed them was the only one that held true. They had set her life on a different course and she was forever grateful. Now the debt was paid. For the first time in a long time, she felt completely and entirely free.

Free. Unencumbered. Able to go where she chose; do whatever she wished. Her return to the Bazaar had not simply been driven by a desire to see Drang one last time. She had known this day would eventually come and she had secured certain assets against the time when the Ice Princess would have to meet her demise. Those assets were carefully concealed on her person and very soon would be stowed on her modified Betazoid Defense Flier. She was glad the _Enterprise_ hadn't taken too close a look at her ship. There was a great deal more to it than the harmonic shield disruptor, after all. With its own cloaking device and a small but powerful warp drive, the little ship could pack one hell of a punch. And it would bring a decent price too, should she ever decide to put it up for sale. She could think of any number of buyers who would be more than happy to pay for the technology it contained.

As she headed back to where her ship was docked she wondered bemusedly if Picard and the others would ever figure it out. She had taken a terrible chance, she realized, spinning her story with two Betazoids in the room. Deanna, she knew, was merely empathic, but Lwaxana could have caught her, had she been more focused. She was lucky to have gotten away with it, but then, luck had almost always been on her side. Thanks to the inherent secrecy of Starfleet Intelligence, Picard wasn't likely to ever get a straight answer, and she was already long gone.

A slight twinge of guilt passed through her at the thought that she had deceived them once again, but she shook it off. After all, this hadn't been about advancing her own cause, this time, but about saving them. She had even sacrificed the Ice Princess to do it. No, she concluded. She had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about; nothing whatsoever.

Powering up the Betazoid flier, she received her clearance for departure from the docking station. It was time to move on. Time for a new name. Time for a new place. The Ice Princess was dead. It was time to be reborn, once again.

The End


End file.
